Untimely #12 - Lucia Joyce

Yes. A Jung buoy. Yes.

Jung and freudened.

Bog-eyed. Bobbing animusically.

Squinting, side-glancing under dreams and starry eyes.

The Athlete. The Planner. The Professor. The Guide.

A Mermaid flapping in the wake.

Dance for your daddy

For your daddy sings

For your paddy.

Trieste-Zurich-Paris.

Nomad, unbarnacled kid

Of an old Irish goat.

Proteus. Unbound.

Nights on the sauce.

“She is a saucebox.”

Days of closeted genius.

“I am the genius.”

A tiny runt.

A tinny rant.

I.

Ill.

It.

Irate.

I’ll iterate in four languages.

Fluent.

The flowering of words

And flailing of limbs;

And with his success

The phone ever rings,

A maddening mess

Of wires and strings.

Fragments, finesse,

Of fires and flings.

His obscene success.

My shadow mind stings.

Dance for your daddy

For your daddy sings.

Yes. I will. Yes.

For my daddy sings.