I read the first few pages and graves
of Ulysses today,
because it is June 16th, Bloomsday,
and because my friends
in Montreal and Berlin
and other places
are posting about it on Instagram,
so I feel the need to get it.
the action has me savvy,
especially after work
when I dig for the big copy
that I have had forever,
started and stopped,
given in to the prose
and given up on the poetry
of the piece of perfection.
this copy has been with me,
soaked in a tidal wave
on Fire Island that summer,
ripped by chicks that I have loaned it to,
and has seen bookshelves
in Florida, NYC, Montreal, Florida
and NYC, as well as
the backs of cars and the tops of bars.
this book by James
has given me whiskey,
nights, sexual candidates lost,
and tonight that is more recognizable
than the best commercials for soap
or broken noses and broken dreams.