My Own Private Ulysses: Dr. Strangebloom
How I learned to stop worrying and love
The book called Ulysses by Herr Satan.
I tried to read every guide. Well, sort of.
But my crooked path would never straighten.
I joined James Joyce's prayer force: Nabokov,
Kenner, Hart, Bloom – Harold, not Leopold.
And prepared for takeoff with this Luftwaffe,
But the cock-and-pulpit felt remote-controlled.
When the mind-shaft gap widened toward doomsday,
I blitzed through the bomb bay doors in time,
to fall from grace to The Journal of Bloomsday,
Where I abandoned all reason for rhyme.
When lost and foundering in abysses,
Win by finding your own private Ulysses.
Stay tuned for more strangesonnets.
Same strangetime, same strangechannel.