Joyce’s Ulysses

            The Normal Monster

            sings in the Green Sahara

            The voice and offal

            of the image of God

            make Celtic noises

            in these lyrical hells

            Hurricanes

            of reasoned musics

            reap the uncensored earth

            The loquent consciousness

            of living things

            pours in torrential languages

            The elderly colloquists

            the Spirit and the Flesh

            are out of tongue — — —

            The Spirit

            is impaled upon the phallus

            Phœnix

            of Irish fires

            lighten the Occident

            with Ireland’s wings

            flap pandemoniums

            of Olympian prose

            and satirize

            the imperial Rose

            of Gaelic perfumes

            —England

            the sadistic mother

            embraces Erin—

Master

of meteoric idiom

present

            The word made flesh

            and feeding upon itself

            with erudite fangs

            The sanguine

            introspection of the womb

            Don Juan

            of Judea

            upon a pilgrimage

            to the Libido

            The Press — — —

            purring

            its lullabyes to sanity

            Christ capitalised

            scourging

            incontrite usurers of destiny

            —in hole and corner temples

And hang

            the soul’s advertisements

            outside the ecclesiast’s Zoo

            A gravid day

            spawns

            guttural gargoyles

            upon the Tower of Babel

            Empyrean emporium

            where the

            rejector—recreator

                    Joyce

            flashes the giant reflector

            on the sub rosa — — —