Thursday, August 23, 2018

mmdcclxxxvii

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
deep and bitter
end of the
night before
last. A joule 
is a unit of 
electoral,
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. I’ve 
taken this as 
metrical, a 
unit of squealy
property, this
freakin’ lout
of a day,  fort
unately it is
fairly abnormal 
(no?  it is not!),
but about a quarter 
of an inch magical, 
the lips of which are 
not madrigal (& here
is a side-fantasy: When
shouldn’t there be
a day when the
Mrs. of which stands 
at the ready, right here 
on Barbary Lane? Oh, 
how I do so very much wish
just so I could say hello
through all of this
haywire! But that un
plain Olympia who 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.  All in all,
you do the math, a for-real
day approaching — but
never equaling — the
entire previous year
of them.  Yep, 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), not ever, (listen!)
undivided. No matter
our individual stances.
In fact, me being me
(that’s me=me; and this
is, please, just between
you + me and me+ you) is 
something like the factoid that 
broke the camel’s back and
was found the very next day
in a haystack — that is a pair
(or so) of facts. More
to my point, I think:
charity persists, cherries
are picked (and are full of
the pits) and chastity;
well, that’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 my heart like a pit, 
I heave out a salty Hooray!;
and do not forget, a Yip Pee!)

sally