Bells, Lib­erty, Un­due Ex­ul­ta­tion

The Walrus - - ARTS & CULTURE - By Linda Bes­ner

A bale­ful valen­tine from Elba: I de­mand to be your belly but­ton’s bell­boy! What with my bul­rush li­bido, and the raw

lob­ster latched to your ear­lobe, life in la ligne aéri­enne is com­ing unglued. All my un­bil­l­able hours de­liv­er­ing boiled wa­ter lilies

in a wheel­bar­row; it’s enough to give Lil­lian Hell­man the col­ly­wob­bles. I lost a cas­tle, a thim­ble, I clung

to a min­eral li­bretto, I’m drink­ing for two. My blood is leaky, blus­tery, it bil­lows with lam­b­like cul­pa­bil­ity, it’s richer than you. Mon beau’s

an empty cym­bal in the all-white school band. Lis­ten,

I’m still clean­ing the club soda you spilled through the crack in free­dom’s

um­brella. I’m the eel-rib­boned Easter hat with Be­laru­sian di­a­monds. Lis­ten, you won’t be­lieve who’s back:

my flib­ber­ti­gib­bet hy­men. A clang from the cloche tolling the clos­ing of Heaven’s last hy­per­link.

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