Jewel
Lee vs. Jujube
Jack & Jill
vs. The Hill
were at the
Jewel Bee
Jubilee.
Which is
just a jest,
a silly way
to say any-
thing be-
sides today;
anything ex-
cept last
night + the
night be-
fore last
+ the deep
and bitter
end of the
day before
yesterday.
A joule is a
unit of el-
ectoral,
magest-
erial and
thermal
under-
wear,
some-
thing
shiny
and
bright,
worn
skinny, it
is but one
attempt
to broach
an identity,
like that of
you or that
of me. Un-
like the last
48 hours
of hard-on
gruesome;
a turmoil
I’ve taken
as metric-
al, or at
least of a
broken down
metric, a unit
of music or
property re-
presentative
in this trom-
bonified case,
a freakin' lout
of a day (which
I call a flaut)
and fairly ab-
normal (not!),
(it is not) even
a quarter of an
inch magical, the
lip of which is not
one iota madrigal
(& on that note, here
is a side-fantasy: When
shouldn’t there be
a day when the
Mrs. Latter of which
stands at the ready,
right here on Barbary
Lane? Oh, how I do
so very much wish
that she were around
today, like always,
just to say hello
through all of this
haywire! This un-
plain Olympia, never
intended to be climbed
like a San Francisco hill
but lovingly embraced
into, engulfed, in a
floaty way like
How Sweet Is
My Valley (a con-
fusion of a story
about the state
of Tennessee and the
flick by John Ford),
and, yes, even like
the rich and mellifluent
voice of Tennessee
Ernie Ford
but
rather NOT like
(speaking of dells)
the Dukakis that
was neither Duke
nor President but
an also ran (aka,
a Greek with no
Jimmy). All in all
(you do the math).
It’s a for-real
day approaching — but
never equaling — the
entire previous year
of them. Befitting to a T,
right, this year preceded by
entire previous years, which
were, each, in their own little
ways: I, M & E. Yep.
T + I + M + E =
everything (again,
you do the math).
And did you know,
well, of course you
did, that individually,
we’re each + all
~80% H20. And as united
as we may stand, we are
never (please do under-
stand), no, not ever
undivided. No matter
our individual stance.
In fact, me being me
(that’s me=me; and this
is, please, just between
you and me) is something
like the factoid that broke
the camel’s back (and
was found the very next day
in a haystack) — a fact
which could be a pair (or
so) of facts, could be just
a little too much (like M+E at
times, IMHO). But, really,
everything being me,
which = LIFE, or one
that has for a time
existed, is some-
thing that I have
rarely known and yet
seem to persist right
through it. But more
to my point, I think:
charity persists, cherries
are picked (and are full of
the pits) and chastity;
well, it’s a bust.
Isn’t this all no-
thing but my inevitable
attempt at jubilance,
after all? Even here,
stuck at the very bottom
of it, I heave out a Hooray!;
sally (to rush out or leap forth
suddenly) out of a bunch of
muck; stick up my thumb (and
not my bum!) and sally
(to issue suddenly from
a defensive or besieged
position to attack an enemy):
a hefty Yippee for Meeee!;
and set out on a trip or
excursion (which also =
our good friend sally)
in the
general direction
of
tomorrow! Yip Pee!
