Blazes' Basket
His name’s Blazes Boylan, all-star crooner.
He knows making baskets is how you score.
He’s a real baller who hits the nooner,
Even when tip-off goes down around four.
Put in a bottle of invalid port,
then throw down a jar of plum potted meat.
If you really want to run Molly’s court
A few blushing peaches will bring the heat.
And lay down two pears, lying head to toe,
Perfectly paired like a fruity ying-yang.
But manage the clock, know when to go slow,
And more than the boards will be yours to bang.
Why this need to feed and make Molly drunk?
    She's down, an easy lay-up, a sure slam-dunk.
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Same technical time, same crossover channel.
James Joyce Time Again
He is our DJ. We are what he plays.
His long book of songs lit up the new world,
Razed the roof and set the dancefloor ablaze.
The censors swirled and his hot critics hurled
Cold water, for they knew their same old song
Had just been ding-donged by time’s closing bell
And swept off stage by the bang of the gong.
The unbold ruled Eden till Joyce gave them Hell.
Whichever century, this or the last,
A Joyce will devastate the turntable,
Give the nod, and put the past on blast
Turning the tables like Cain did Abel.
So next time the future becomes the now,
Don’t waste time asking how, just bask and say Wow.
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Same treble time, same cued-up channel.
What The Buck?
He’s Buck Mulligan, our book’s big bad guy,
A smiling backstabber who puns amuck.
His barbs mutilate with a sparkling eye.
Even his bunkmates are sure to be stuck.
His brand is mockery, his pricks various,
Sacred cows he butchers with naked glee.
Brash, malicious, and yet hilarious,
He bathes in the sea, and he lives rent-free.
Buck flays religion, faith he pillages,
Plucks sanctimony, shucks prissy sissies.
His laugh lays waste to noble villages.
What the… It sounds like Buck is Ulysses.
So Buck is not our book’s evil duckling.
Who else embodies Joyce’s swashbuckling?
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Same skewed time, same screwed channel.