Monday, January 31, 2011



Speaking in Tongues

“lookin’ for a tongue
lookin’ for a tongue
to get holy in.”
—Cherry Muhanji,
Tight Spaces

A snaky feeling—
When I be around Tyrone
Coiling, uncoiling.

He spooks my alley—
Tyrone spooks my play of words
I wanna get down.

Where is he going—
This root-brother whispering
Mo-jo in my ear?

Cracks in the mirror—
Oozing out words just for me
Eden exiled boyz.

The Birthmark

“I am who I am,
doing what I came
to do, acting upon
you like a drug or
a chisel…”
—Audrey Lorde,
Sister Outsider

I dream about him—
Tyrone & his dark birthmark
His bruised rose Tattoo.

It has its own Name—
This Snake of mulatto love
My black male Other.

Black brother birthmark—
Sixteen year old male beauty
Whitemen would kill him.

He’s got a secret—
Tyrone sleeps with white-chicks
They like want him bad.

The Other

“…to remind
you of your me-ness
as I discover you
in myself.”
—Audrey Lorde,
Sister Outsider

He isn’t just some—
Imaginary Other.
He be the real Thing.

Brother Outsider—
He isn’t very bashful
He knows I like him.

He knows I love him—
Maybe I love him too much.
Maybe he loves me.

I love it when he—
Begins to speak in Tongues
It gives me goosebumps.


“spreading from
the middle of the lid
toward the eyebrow”
—Toni Morrison, Sula

Tyrone’s birthmark spreads—
From his foreskin up to his
Bulging bellybutton.

And then it spreads—
All over his young body
His black male beauty.

He be high yellow—
He be a mulatto man
He gots the birthmark.

It gives things away—
Just like Sula knows male gaze
Tyrone knows it too.

Snake in the Garden

“the rattlesnake
over her eye”
—Toni Morrison, Sula

Jude is the husband—
Of Sula’s best friend Nel who
Calls it a “copperhead.”

Garden of Eden—
Sula is the Other who
Seduces Jude with sex.

She be the woman—
Who constitutes black male

She be Snake Woman—
She knows how male gaze slithered
Around in Eden.

Devil Dinge

“Their conviction
of Sula’s evil…”
—Toni Morrison, Sula

Tyrone be that way—
The male gaze focuses on him
They’ve been deceived.

In the shower-room—
After working out in gym
All the ogling eyes.

Soon Tyrone just skips—
Taking showers beginning
In the Seventh grade.

He passes as Whiteboy—
Until they see his dinge dick
His jet-black birthmark.

Black Beauty

“Their conviction
of Sula’s evil changed
them in accountable
yet mysterious ways”
—Toni Morrison, Sula

Not just the young males—
The older men see it too
At the YMCA.

Especially the fags—
Who see Tyrone as their own
Personal fortune.

Congregating like—
Vultures in the locker-room
They can smell black meat.

They fight over it—
They cherish his black maleness
Sula is sexy.


“the mark of the
fish he loved”
—Toni Morrison, Sula

One of the gay men—
Shell-shocked from Viet Nam
Calls Tyrone “tadpole.”

Tyrone has Sula’s—
Bruised primordial birthmark
From the Beginning.

Tadpoles can live on—
Land or in the water like
Amphibious things.

They live in two worlds—
Terrestrial as well as
Underwater worlds.

Black Meat

“It was the men
who gave [Sula]
the final label who
fingerprinted her
for all time”
—Toni Morrison, Sula

One of the white jocks—
Who haunts the gym & mall
Has a dirty mouth.

The way he sayz “shit”—
So unspeakably nasty
Incredibly foul.

“Black meat,” Simba hisses—
Knowing that Tyrone’s passing
Trying to be white.

Sinister & cute—
That slinky young mean black dude.
But he be black meat too!

Dinge Words

“Sula was curious.
The word he called
out to her and the
feeling he had
excited in her then”
—Toni Morrison, Sula

So Tyrone tells me—
And it excites me too.
Tyrone be Black Meat.

He be like Susan Kohner—
In Sirk’s Lana Turner flick
Black melodrama.

Dinge soap opera—
“Imitation of Life” (1959)
Campy tear-jerker.

Troy Donohue as—
Peeved deceived Lover Boy
Who thinks she be white.

Dinge Dilemma

“No ego, no speck
around which to grow”
—Toni Morrison, Sula

Snake, tattoo, tadpole—
These are dinge trademarks
The dinge birthmark knows.

The same with Faulkner—
Charles Bon the Beautiful
Joe Christmas be dead.

Passing thru both worlds—
Free-floating signifiers
A dinge dilemma.

Passing thru dinge worlds—
Sula’s synecdoche snakings
Sliding down my throat.

Dinge Sex

“high silence
of orgasm”
—Toni Morrison, Sula

Prediscursive prick—
Rupturing the dinge discourse
Center of silence.

Tyrone’s orgasm—
Black loneliness so profound
Desperate domain.

Doing dinge down-low—
Down where words have no meaning
Young black male silence.

Moving away from—
Contestorial whiteboyz
To intimate dinge.

The Male Other

“If I take a chamois
and rub real hard
on the bone…”
—Toni Morrison, Sula

Snake, tadpole, tattoo—
All these phallic images
That Tyrone evokes.

Deconstructing it—
Doing the down-low on
Jude’s sad “whiney tale.”

Whitemen loves Tyrone—
They spend all their time doing
Lots of worrying.

‘Bout dinge penises—
Either wanting to suck them
Like down at the “Y”

Or the opposite—
Wanting to cut their dicks off
Aint that just pure Love?

Race politics / Sex politics

“Nothing in this world
loves a black man more
than another black man”
—Toni Morrison, Sula

Tyrone’s sense of—
Dinge-love powerlessness
Makes me feel so blue.

I’m not much better—
Than the fags down at the Y
Wanting his dinge dick.

I want Tyrone too—
Getting him loaded on coke
Getting him off fine.

I’m Dirty Whiteboy—
I’m more than skin-deep ugly
I’m ugly to the Bone.

Brother Outsider

“womb-like matrix”
—Toni Morrison, Sula

Rewriting dinge lit—
Dishing dominant discourse
Doing the down-low.

Whitemen are talking—
About themselves all the time.
That’s all they’re good for.

Whitewomen write too—
Mostly about their Whitemen
That’s all they know ‘bout.

Blackwomen rewrite—
Dinge “delegitimation”
They’re speaking in tongues.

Dinge Outsider

“Only black women
writers were not
interested in writing
about white men and
freed literature to take
on other concerns”
—Andrea Stuart,
“Telling Our Story,”
Sparerib (1978)

But what do I know?—
I’m just a faggot Poet
Not a Lit Crit Queen.

I’m certainly not—
A Hermeneutic Homo
Interpreting Tongues.

I’m not anti-fag—
Calling Baldwin “cocksucker”
Like Ishmael Reed.

Outsider brother—
Young Tyrone be special
My dinge-love Other.

Homo Heteroglossia

“This discursive diversity or
simultaneity of discourse, I
call speaking in tongues.”
—Mae Gwendolyn Henderson,
“Speaking in Tongues,” African
American Literary Theory

Speaking in tongues just—
Seems to come outta the blue
Like a Mother Tongue.

Gay glossolalia—
Just seems to glom onto me
Like when I’m dreaming.

When I rewrite it—
Heteroglossia speaks
Thru gay poetry.

Call me Miss Babel—
I wrestle like Jacob with
Angels for new Words.

Saturday, January 29, 2011




—for Audre Lorde

Tyrone be laid-back—
A young slacker unicorn
Lanky dark noir lover.

He lives in a world—
Young mulatto manhood
His unicorn sleeps.

Sleeping & dreaming—
Unrelentlingly mature
Haughty kid brother.

Outta his shorts tho—
A man-child grows & growls
His armpits groaning.

Kid Brother
—for Audre Lorde

Deep inside Tyrone—
Engorged with brotherly love
He’s oozing with it.

Spurts of demon seed—
Without the act of gladness
No embellishments.

Moody Mandingo—
Jungle-pubes & nude beauty
Congo nightclub drums.

He needs to forget—
His father’s saxophone down
There between his legs.

Show Me Your Face
—for Audre Lorde

Show me your real face—
The one mother saw those nights
There in Chicago…

When she was fucking—
You into your existence
Legs around his neck.

Let me see your face—
Distended like your father
Lakeshore nightclub nights.

Let me become you—
Like mother became him
Him losing it for you.

Redhead Mother
—for Audre Lorde

Tyrone my lover—
Carrying your heavy load
Indelicate flesh.

Your deceitful words—
Jiving with ignorant chicks
You had a secret.

Kinky bright-orange pubes—
You inherited from her
But that’s not all, kid.

“Shaft” snorting coke in bed
Proud of your 10 inches.

Voodoo Hoodoo
—for Audre Lorde

I can feel myself—
Like a dry desiccated
Old dinosaur bone.

Waiting for thunder—
And your Jurassic jizz to
Resurrect me now.

Sure of your dark strength—
Letting me be man-eater
Cannibal for your cum.

Ancient as rivers—
Tallahatchie sluggish flow
Mississippi sludge.

—for Audre Lorde

As tart & tasty—
As fine Yoknapatawpha
Thick chicken Egg yolk.

I swallow it all—
Each squirt of Jefferson jizz
I be queer Quentin.

Getting Dalton Ames—
There on that old stony bridge
Getting him off good.

Just like Caddy does—
Feel my throbbing vein up here?
On my straining neck?

Spilt Offspring
—for Audre Lorde

How much spilt offspring—
Did I squeeze outta each nut
Coming outta you?

How your legs fluttered—
Like broken wings of a bird
Your heart skipping beats?

How may young sons—
And beautiful cute daughters
I sucked outta you?

Seed pod split open—
Sea-shells with pearls deep inside
Your Delta Queen lips?

Spilling your offspring—
Oozing your muy macho
Down my fucking throat.

Family Tree
—for Audre Lorde

I wanted to feel—
My kid brother lose it bad
Going spaz real hard.

Suck it, beat you off—
Milking our Family Tree
Nasty nut-cream spluge.

Your ear-phones playing—
Calling me her name, Eileen
“Okay girl, take it…”

Toes bent, eyes tight-shut—
Head buried sideways in pillow
My tongue up your asshole.

Martin Luther King Way
—for Audre Lorde

Riding the light-rail—
All the way downtown tonight
Outta the Ghetto.

Dahomey dinge queen—
Beside me my cute boyfriend
Your knees pressing close.

I can still taste you—
Your South End black libation
Illuminates me.

Outta Holly Park—
Old Othello Street housing
Now whitey upscale.

Your mother, sister—
Have moved to Tacoma
Cheaper place to live.

You leans close to me—
Earth & moon meld into one
You smell like King Toffah.

The light-rail is fast—
Fast & smooth & streamlined
Thru the city night.

Don’t Wait Too Long
—for Audre Lorde

Some guyz like to wait—
For life, for a thrill, for touch
For somebody else.

To heal them, make them—
Whole with their mouth wide-open
In wonder & love.

You did it to me—
The way your night-crawler got
Halfway down my throat.

But I play it safe—
I learned from Tyrone to use
Rubbers making love.

The Moment doesn’t—
Linger or loiter around
It’s got plans for us.

It aint got no time—
For anything but living
Living & dying.

The stars way up there—
They don’t care for you & me
Most people don’t either.

When things don’t wanna—
Change then it’s time for you
To do some changing fast.

The D-Word
—for Audre Lorde

They bedevil me—
Some words are totally bad
Real bad to the bone.

They’re like the N-word—
Just a one-way street nowhere
No where & no how.

Other words are vague—
Dinge queens can be degrading
High yellow be better.

Not all words are cool—
Squeezed below the belt nicely
Zippered up so neat.

Words bedevil me—
Tyrone’s skin isn’t jet-black
It’s milk chocolate.

His pubes are bright-orange—
His serpentine dreadlocks beige
His penis is dinge.

He comes easily—
But sometimes it’s kinda hard
Like pulling a Tooth.

Friday, January 28, 2011



a self-consciously
—Joseph Urgo
Faulkner's Apocrypha:
"A Fable," "Snopes,"
and the Spirit of
Human Rebellion

But where to begin—
So many profane fictions
Broken promises.

So many false starts—
Go Down Moses tragedies
Sanctuary lies.

As I Lay Dying—
And Absalom, Absalom
Story of gay life.


“I’ve discovered
that my fiction has
been ahead of me”
—Ishmael Reed,
“Distant Cousins,”
Airing Dirty Laundry

I want to say it—
Something like “Let there be

But where do I start—
It’s a mystery story
A noir whodunit?

An Apocrypha—
Like Absalom, Absalom
Afrocentric love?


“The Afrocentric
exploration of the
black past only
scratches the surface”
—Ishmael Reed,
“Distant Cousins,”
Airing Dirty Laundry

I don’t believe in—
A White America or
Black America.

We’re not two nations—
With two separate blood lines
One black & one white.

America is—
A Land of Distant Cousins
A complex context.


“The pursuit of this
journey requires the
sort of intellectual
courage that’s missing
in contemporary politically
correct America”
—Ishmael Reed,
“Distant Cousins,”
Airing Dirty Laundry

Exploring my past—
My Afrocentric mother’s
Chicago father.

Jazz saxophonist—
My mulatto family roots
The Windy City.

My own personal—
Go Down Moses ledgers
Shadow family.


“a meditation on
an unsublimated,
pornographic poetics
in the emergence of
—Kodat, Catherine Gunther
“Posting Yoknapatawpha,”
The Mississippi Quarterly

“I’ve known rivers”
—Langston Hughes

i’ve known dead rivers—
hoodoo voodoo mandingo
zombie dead deltas.

older than the styx—
older than mississippi
older than congo.

old as amazon—
old as the veiny volga
old as the danube.

i’ve known thick rivers—
thick as the vein on my dick
writhing wiggling slow.

thicker than your lips—
your lynch party killer smile
your thin fay wray lips.


“An ‘apocrypha’ is a
textual other, an alternative
to orthodoxy and the canon;
it exists as dialogic, multiple,
inconsistent, contradictory.”
—Martin Kreiswirth,
“Paradoxical and Outrageous
Discrepancy”: Transgression,
Auto-Intertexuality, and
Faulkner’s Yoknapatawpha,”
Faulkner and the Artist:
Faulkner and Yoknapatawpha

Bad seed be good news—
I know it & he knows it
Tyrone my brother.

Blacker the berry—
My mulatto kid brother
The sweeter the juice.

“It’s big & it’s black!”
My young little sister said
Looking at Tyrone.

How could I tell her—
I was in love with Tyrone
I was a dinge queen?


"Sublimation is satisfaction
of the sexual drive, without
repression. In other words
for the moment, I am not
fucking, I am talking to you.
Well! I can have exactly the
same satisfaction as if I were
fucking. That's what it means.
Indeed, it raises the question
of whether in fact I am not
fucking at this moment"
—Jacques Lacan

Tyrone speaks fuck words—
Much more muy macho than
Me his weak sister.

After school when he’s—
Fucking his girlfriend in bed
He sayz bad fuck words.

Tyrone speaks fuck words—
Even when he’s not fucking
His sexy syntax.

He be Lacan-esque—
His seminal semantics
It gives me the chills.


“And that’s why
searching for the
details of one’s
background is
similar to a
—Ishmael Reed,
“Distant Cousins,”
Airing Dirty Laundry

Tyrone was all-male
Already a mature man
When he was sixteen.

He was good at it—
Doing self-fellatio
He’d let me watch him.

Finally one weekend—
I couldn’t stand it no more
That’s when I did him.

I showed him one night—
What professionals could do
I was a queer pro.

After doing him—
And getting him off two times
He agreed with me.

Was okay but nothing could
Outdo the real thing.


“with a kind of alert respect,
as you approach dynamite;
even with joy, as you approach
women: perhaps with the same
secretly unscrupulous
intentions"—William Faulkner

I know it sounds gauche—
Talking about Tyrone’s dick
I can’t help it though.

It makes me wonder—
About our Family Tree
Its roots & branches.

It makes me wonder—
About genealogy…
Tyrone’s genitals.

Why was Tyrone’s dick—
So much darker & thicker
Than my white boy one?

Why was I whitey—
And he was a mulatto
With a beige penis?

It made me jealous—
Full of bad penis envy
I wanted one too…

When I sucked him off—
And he lost it really bad
I became his dick.


“Having used verse,
I would now allow verse
to use me if it could.”
—William Faulkner
Early Prose and Poetry

I have to confess—
I’m a cannibal for love
Just as young Tyrone.

He doesn’t trust me—
When I get that look in my
Jaundiced queer boy eye.

I be a headhunter—
Slipping back his black foreskin
And getting his pink head.

My pouty lips smeared—
With his seminal cream-cheese
He wrinkles his nose.

He likes to watch me—
Slowly swallow his dickwad
A tablespoon’s worth.


“What did I do
to be so black
and blue”
—Ralph Ellison,
Invisible Man

LSU back then—
Was still integrated but
Things were changing slow.

By 1967 there were—
Going to school there.

A young editor—
Of the Delta Journal was
A handsome black guy.

Amos J. Bolton—
Who liked my poetry some
Delta published it.


“A sea of faces,
some hostile,
some amused,
roared around us
and in the center
stood a magnificent
blonde—stark naked”
—Ralph Ellison,
Invisible Man

My young kid brother—
His mulatto endowments
Sullen & moody.

I was just a young—
Stupid dirty white-boy
In love with Tyrone.

I had a white dick—
It wasn’t black like Tyrone’s
African penis.

He’s still beautiful—
I still get excited when
When I see him nude.


“Down on
Lenox Avenue
the other night”
—Langston Hughes
The Weary Blues

drooping a dreary—
sucked-off too many times dick
it’s weary blues time.

the pale dull pallor—
of harlem dayz long ago
it’s weary blues time.

that old piano—
ebony hands playing the
the ivory keys

that was yesterday—
harlem boyz like me just aren’t
in vogue anymore.


“O Frankie and
Johnny were lovers
Oh Lordy how
they did love!”
—Old ballad

Frankie be dirty—
He be a dirty whiteboy
The Trailer Trash kind.

Johnny be bad boy—
He had a mulatto dick
A really big one.

Frankie loved Johnny—
He be a dinge queen for love
He liked his men black.

Johnny could care less—
He didn’t go for fag boyz
He preferred pussy.

But Johnny was broke—
Frankie had plenty of dough
To do the down-low.

And Johnny had lots—
Of juicy jizz to get blown
Right outta his Bone.

—for Georgia Douglas Johnson

I just wanna die—
When you love me the hard way
Pulling my hair tight.

I just wanna die—
When you stop kissin’ me and
Get down to business.

I just wanna die—
Who cares about just livin’
When we’re down fuckin’.

I just wanna die—
When you go spastic on me
Shootin’ your brains out.


“Because I am the
white man’s son”
—Langston Hughes

Got the Blues tonight—
The Bad Boy Mulatto Blues
I be White Man’s Son.

I may be Dingy—
I may be Chocolate Brown
I may be Yellow.

I may be Pink-Eyed—
I may be Albino Pale
I may be Cocoa.

But my fuckin’ Dick—
Be Black as the Ace of Spades
Licorice smooth sweet.

Let me peal it back—
My Hoodoo Voodoo Penis
Show you my Pink Head?

Wednesday, January 26, 2011




Young Mandingo Stud

“Percavil Brownly 26yr Old.
cleark @ Bookepper. bought
from N. B. Forest at Cold Water
3 Mar 1856 $265. dolars.”
—William Faulkner,
Go Down, Moses

A slender young black—
Very shy & withdrawing
Percival Brownly.

Uncle Buck saw him—
Yes, it was love at first sight.
Forest had been right.

Young black Adonis—
A Big Easy Pretty Boy
Beautiful male.

Couldn’t read or write—
Couldn’t pick cotton either.
What else could he do?

Uncle Buck’s Boyfriend

“5 mar 1856 No bookepper
any way Cant read. Can
write his Name, but I already
put that down My self Says
he can Plough but dont look l
ike it to Me. sent to Feild
to day Mar 5 1856”
—William Faulkner,
Go Down, Moses

Percival Brownly—
Only slave Buck had ever
Bought in his whole life.

Uncle Buddy was—
Extremely jealous of course
The Twins were married.

After L.Q.C. died—
They let all the slaves live in
The Plantation home.

The huge old Mansion—
Antebellum Delta dump
Rotting sad ruins.

Uncle Buck & Uncle Buddy

"long since past
any oral intercourse"
—William Faulkner,
Go Down, Moses

A married couple—
Antebellum man and wife
Like Rhett and Scarlett.

Buddy was the cook—
As well as the housekeeper
She was the bottom.

Sitting by the fire—
Rocking in her rocking chair
As she cooked dinner.

Uncle Buddy prim—
Once she was kinda pretty
Those days were long gone.

Good in Bed

“6 Mar 1856 Cant plough
either Says he aims to be.
a Precher so may be he
can lead live stock to
Crick to Drink”
—William Faulkner,
Go Down, Moses

Percival Brownly—
He can’t plow or pick cotton
Can’t read or write none.

Aint no bookkeeper—
Although he can sign his name
Can’t really blame him.

They don’t go to school—
We don’t let them read or write
Percival’s the same.

Uncle Buck knows why—
He brought Percival back then
Cause he’s good in bed.

No Preacher Either

“Mar 23th 1856 Cant do
that either Except one at
a Time Get shut of him”
—William Faulkner,
Go Down, Moses

Buddy’s just jealous—
After all these many years
The Twins as Lovers.

Kinda like Bad Seed—
It runs Evil thru the Tree
Forbidden Fruit.

The McCaslin roots—
Its twisted Family Tree
Gnarled Mississippi.

Lucius Quintus—
And handsome young Thucydus
Mulatto brother.

Dispossessed Delta Bourbons

Not impotent:
He didn’t condone;
Not blind, because
He watched it. And
Let me say it.
Dispossessed of
—William Faulkner
Go Down, Moses

They couldn’t help it—
Q loved Thucydus just like
Like Buck loved Buddy.

The Bad Seed Uncles—
Gnarled Adamic twisted twins
The Curse continues.

Q and Thucydus—
Their Slaver white-trash karma
Catching up with them.

Straight out of Eden—
The two young masters—
Flee down to Mississippi.

Southern decadence—
Miscegenal incest love
Cain and Able.

Carolina Queers

“His own brother
His own brother.
No No Not even him!”
—William Faulkner
Go Down, Moses

Young stud Thucydus—
Carothers McCaslin’s
Well-hung brother.

Teenage Thucydus—
Shadow-family brother
Carolina hunk.

Lucius Quintus—
Queer for well-hung Thucydus
Carothers’ bad seed.

Like Cain & Able—
Possessed by miscegenal
Incestuous love…

Like Buck and Buddy—
Isaac’s queer twin uncles
Plantation masters.

Carolina sin—
Runs deep in the Family
Carothers brothers.

Q and Thucydus—
Transgenerational sin
Adamic boyfriends.

Yoknapatawpha Exiles

“Thucydus fits the surmisable
facts equally whether his acts
are motivated by a desire to
free himself from the will of a
grandfather (L.Q.C.'s father)”
—Noel Polk & Richard Godden,
"Reading the ledgers,” The
Mississippi Quarterly 07-01-2002

Or a half brother—
Who wants to sleep him and
Make love (L.Q.C.).

It’s simply awful—
The Carolina Scandal
Father is outraged!!!

Lucius Quintus—
And young handsome Thucydus
Their brotherly love…

Father’s Will reneged—
Pissed off like Colonel Sutpen
Dingy Dynasty!!!

Kicking both of them—
L.Q.C. and Thucydus
Outta the Garden.

For tasting the Fruit—
From the Forbidden Tree
Eden dispossessed.

Exiled all the way—
Down to Yoknapatawpha
Mississippi Delta.

Queer Ledgers

“perhaps upon some
apocryphal Bench or
even Altar or perhaps
before the Throne Itself
for a last perusal and
contemplation and
refreshment of the
—William Faulkner
Go Down, Moses

The gay curse and taint—
Theophilus loved by his
Twin Amodeus.

Lucius Quintus—
Incestuously in love
With young Thucydus.

Even going down—
To the Big Easy to get
His brother a wife.

It’s all written down—
As if by a palimpsest
Shadow Transcriber.

Shadow Narrative

“But the narrative of
this emancipatory
impulse veers towards
alternative and darker
—Noel Polk & Richard Godden,
"Reading the ledgers,” The
Mississippi Quarterly 07-01-2002

The Brownlee entry—
Beyond oral intercourse
Homo Uncle Buck?

Isaac McCaslin—
Stunned by gay revelations
His homo-subtext?

Shadow Family—
Plus lots of dinge queens?

Well-hung Thucydus—
Tomey’s Turl’s dark 12 inches
Sizequeen Uncle Buck?

Antebellum Romance
Henry Sutpen knows?

The Legers don’t lie—
Polyvocally perverse
A House of Mirrors.

Going Down on Moses

even perhaps far
from readable”
—Noel Polk & Richard Godden,
"Reading the ledgers,” The
Mississippi Quarterly 07-01-2002

Brownlee is homo—
And his being homo is
Why Uncle Buck buys him.

Everyone knows it—
Uncle Buddy knows why too
Buck needs some loving.

Young handsome Brownlee—
Is the only slave that Buck’s
Ever bought or sold.

Isaac can’t believe—
His father Theophilus
McCaslin is gay.

The Legers

“The legers: a text
virtually unmoored
from conventional
linearity & periodicity.”
—Noel Polk & Richard Godden,
"Reading the ledgers,” The
Mississippi Quarterly 07-01-2002

Critics thru the years—
Have followed Isaac in his
Leaving Brownlee out.

Brownlee episode—
The Story is crucial to
Isaac’s closetry.

The ledger pages—
All the Buck-Buddy entries
Admissions of guilt.

Isaac’s father and
His uncle discussing it
Buck’s love for Brownlee.

Gay Miscegeny

“24 Mar 1856 Who
in hell would buy him?”
—William Faulkner,
Go Down, Moses

Gay miscegeny—
With a young mulatto slave
Liaison of love.

Buck was committing—
The same sins that Isaac claimed
His grandfather did.

His father’s gayness—
Homo miscegeny with
A young black hung slave.

Much worse than L.Q.C.—
Had ever done or could do
Sex with a black man!

Dinge Soap Opera

“19th of Apr 1856 Nobody
You put yourself out of
Market at Cold Water two
months ago I never said
sell him Free him”
—William Faulkner,
Go Down, Moses

Dinge soap opera—
The Family Chronicle takes
A real bad nose dive.

Deep South Tragedy—
What would Jefferson Davis
Say about it all?

Mulatto marriage—
Dinge love miscegeny
Gay brothers and slaves?

Surely it was time—
Don’t Ask & Please Don’t Tell
Delta Bourbons blush!

Going Down on Moses

“22 Apr 1856 I'll
get it out of him”
—William Faulkner,
Go Down, Moses

Just what poor Isaac—
Wanted to hear & to read
There in the ledgers.

His proud McCaslin—
Father getting it on with
His own Twin brother.

What was poor Dixie—
Decadent, Dinge, Down & Out
Coming to these dayz?

But even worse than—
Brotherly incest was the
Negritude Romance!!!

Emancipated Love

“June 13th 1856
How $1 per year
265$ 265 yrs
Who’ll sign his
Free paper?”
—William Faulkner,
Go Down, Moses

A dollar a year—
Would take forever to pay
For doing Nothing.

Isaac stared them—
The ledgers on the table
In the dim lamplight.

He didn’t want to—
Think of Buck his dear father
Fucking Percival.

Or even worse than—
Percival Brownlee’s bunghole
Was his pouty lips!!!

Shameless Animality

“1 Oct 1856 Mule
josephine Broke Leg
@ shot Wrong stall
wrong niger wrong
everything $100 dolars”
—William Faulkner,
Go Down, Moses

“Holy Mackerel, dare!!!”—
Stunned Kingfish said to Andy
“Messing with a Mule?”

“That Percival boy—
He be worse than dummy Ike
With that stupid cow!!!”

That Percival Brownlee boy
Sounds like a winner.”

Uncle Buck just laughed—
Uncle Buddy shook his head.

The Bill

“2 Od 1856 Freed
Debit McCaslin @
McCaslin $265 dolars”
—William Faulkner,
Go Down, Moses

Isaac is aghast—
His father & gay uncle
Right there in Writing!

Uncle Buddy so—
Succinct about the affair
So short & bitchy.

His entries concise—
“What would father say or do?”
Billing Buck for it.

$100 for the Mule—
$250 for Percival Brownlee
Keeps it businesslike.

Conducting Business

“Buddy's reaction to
Buck's purchase of
Percival Brownlee
is a response first
to his twin's
homosexuality and
second to his
purchase of a slave
to satisfy his lusts”
—Noel Polk & Richard Godden,
"Reading the ledgers,” The
Mississippi Quarterly 07-01-2002

“Oct 3th Debit
Theophilus McCaslin
Niger 265$ Mule 100$
365$ He hasnt gone
yet Father should
be here”

Plantocracy rules—
It’s hard to give up the old
Slavery lingo.

Both Buck and Buddy—
Believe in ending the Curse
Freeing the slave trade.

Ditching the Mansion—
Letting the slaves move into
The Plantation Dive.

The Deep South ruins—
Decadent Antebellum
White Trash Trailer Court.

Gay Divorce

“31 Oct 1856
Renamed him what?”
—William Faulkner,
Go Down, Moses

Trying to save it—
His gay marriage to Buddy
Uncle Buck is nice.

Gives Buddy a chance—
To give Percival Brownlee
A new Free Man’s Name.

Although gay divorce—
Probably seemed rather queer
More queer than marriage.

Even today when gay—
Marriages are legal in some
States, divorce isn’t.

Uncle Buddy’s Dish

“Chrstms 1856
—William Faulkner,
Go Down, Moses

Sweet sonorities—
Gay phonemic mutations
Anus sphincter joys!!!

Buddy as Spinster—
Sphinx and sphincter queen bee
All the lovely names.

"Spinster" ‘cause Buddy—
Fears Brownlee as a rival
sees himself as old maid.

“Sphinx" ‘cause Percival—
Has tried to mate with a mule
And not a lion.

"Sphincter" ‘cause Brownlee—
Is anally colored brown
As is “brown nosing.”

Permutations & Promiscuities

“Since Buck is probably
as puzzled as we are by
Buddy's choice of name,
we may assume either
that he too plays the
phonemic permutations
towards their promiscuities
or that he turns away.”
—Noel Polk & Richard Godden,
"Reading the ledgers,” The
Mississippi Quarterly 07-01-2002

Amodeus is—
Buddy's name ("I love God")
Is Latin they say.

Theophilus is—
Buck's name which in the Greek is
"Beloved of God.’

More literally—
"God loves he" & maybe
Percival as well?

These classical names—
For both of the Twins suggests
That their love is one.

Brother Love

“That the loves of one
are inextricable from
the loves of the other:
to translate, Amodeus
loves what Theophilus
is loved by, and, on the
evidence of the ledgers,
God (whether "Deus" or
"Theo") runs a distinct
second to Spintrius as
object of Buck's affections.”
—Noel Polk & Richard Godden,
"Reading the ledgers,” The
Mississippi Quarterly 07-01-2002

Trinity of classical names
Amodeus, Theophilus.

Creating riddle—
An imperfect chiasmus
Queer “Amo deus.”

“Theo philus” but—
But where “theo” & “amo”
Complement things.

“Amo”-“philus” don’t—
Buck & Buddy McCaslin
A queer chiasmus.

(“The triangulation formed by the trinity of classical names creates a riddle: "Amodeus" and "Theophilus" constitute an imperfect chiasmus: 10 as a clause "Amo deus" inverts and repeats "Theo philus," but where "theo" and "deus" exactly complement one another, "amo" and "philus" do not. In an exact chiasmus Amodeus ('I love God') requires "God loves me" (Theophilus) but "Theophilus," literally translated, means "God loves he." That Buddy's love fails to find its inverse reflection in Buck's name displaces their incest, even as "me" turns into "he." The names deciphered beg the question who is the "he" whom Buck loves in the place of "me?" Spintrius fits. Yet the name Spintrius does not appear in the ledgers until Christmas day, a date of inscription which turns Buddy's choice into a particularly subversive gift: after all, he delivers a Spintrius where one named for God might be expected to deliver a Christ. Does Buddy intimate that he and his twins' sexuality, triangulated through Spintrius-Brownlee's body, might just serve to subvert the Almighty Father? This is the end of the ledger's account of Brownlee, but not of Isaac's. Brownlee again interrupts the story that Isaac wants to tell, of his grandfather's sins, as Isaac moves his narration through the Civil descendants. It seems clear that before Isaac can discuss his grandfather's sexuality, his father's sexuality intrudes.”—Noel Polk, “Reading the ledgers,” The Mississippi Quarterly 07-01-2002)

Ledger Narrative

And so Narrative—
Veers towards darker thoughts
Shadowy ledgers.

That darkness diurnally
Advancing pages.

Ledgers conducting—
Unavoidable business
Of the Plantation.

Long since past—
Any oral intercourse
Faulkner’s locution.

Tongues of lovers pun—
Subversively into the
Speech of dead brothers.


a self-consciously
—Joseph Urgo
Faulkner's Apocrypha:
"A Fable," "Snopes,"
and the Spirit of
Human Rebellion

As a writer’s synecdoche
Producing Others.

Alternatives of—
Self and places, other times
Fabulated real(s).

The ledger entries—
Indirectly explaining
Why Isaac's father…

Bought Brownlee for love—
A business transaction
Cotton field logic.

Pornographic Poetics

“a meditation on
an unsublimated,
pornographic poetics
in the emergence of
—Kodat, Catherine Gunther
“Posting Yoknapatawpha,”
The Mississippi Quarterly

It happens each day—
At the Safeway & Wal-Mart
Feuilleton Journalism.

Gossip magazines—
Aspiring to poetics
Of Porno erudition.

And intertextuality

Sublimation as—
Satisfaction of porno
Pulp Sanctuaries.

Delta Poetics

“Having used verse,
I would now allow verse
to use me if it could.”
—William Faulkner
Early Prose and Poetry

Perhaps with the same—
Secretly unscrupulous
Intentions for love.

Without repression—
Translating the postage stamp
Into dynamite.

Brownlee’s a good lay—
Even tho he’s no bookkeeper
But that’s just a lie.

To cover up what—
I really needed to be
To love and be loved.

Sunday, January 23, 2011




“and the fading
and diluted ghost
of old Carothers’
ruthlessness had
at last conquered
even starvation.”
—William Faulkner,
Go Down, Moses

Ike McCaslin said:
“It really blew me away
when I realized it.”

“That my father Buck—
and his twin brother were fags
Y’know, like faggots.”

He closed his eyes tight—
Leaning back in bed with his
Arm behind his neck.

He took a long toke—
Held it for a long time then
Exhaled it slowly.

Down between his legs—
I was, well, king of busy
Sucking bored Ike off.

“I had a hard time—
believing it was true
but then I had to.”

“The ledgers don’t lie—
it was pretty much all there
Buck and Buddy’s thing.”

The still Delta night—
Sickeningly sweet with the
Honeysuckle stench.
The magnolias—
Were blooming too with their faint
Sweet odor of death.

The Decadent South—
Was rotting nicely that night
Tainting Ike’s dark mood.

“At first it seemed like—
my life had suddenly died
reading those ledgers.”

“I still can’t know if—
my grandfather was as bad
as the ledgers say.”

I’d heard the story—
Miscegenal incest with
Thucydus’ young wife.

And then the daughter—
Getting her pregnant just like
His own father did.

Siring a Shadow—
A shadow family curse
Slavery’s karma.

Ike stretched out in bed—
All six feet of his taut height
McCaslin physique.

Ike held both my ears—
Thumbs sticking real deep into
My motionless head.

He got it all down—
Down my fucking faggot throat
Touching my toenails.

Later Ike told me—
“And I thought my grandfather
was an old pervert.”

I stood in front of—
The mirror dabbing my lips
My moustache was stained.

It was gonna be—
A long night I said to the
Cracked bedroom mirror.

When Ike gets this way—
All the family dirt comes
Oozing out the cracks.

“Do you think I’m queer?”
Ike asked me sipping some gin
Reclined there in bed.

I shrugged like I do—
“What difference does it make now?”
Puffing the hookah.

It was really just—
A plain old water pipe with
Many years usage.

“This old pipe’s gotta—
Lotta mileage on it, Ike.
Kinda just like me.”

Ike laughed & nodded—
“Yeah it was a real shock.
My dad being queer.”

“That’s when I gave up—
trying to bad-mouth old man
L.Q.C. McCaslin.”

“Uncle Buddy was—
the Bottom in their marriage
the cooking, cleaning.”

“But Buck, my father—
needed a new lover bad.
he bought Percival.”

“Tired of just incest—
he wanted mulatto dick
he was desperate.”

“Sometimes it happens”—
I said to Ike, just shrugging.
“Was Brownlee well-hung?”

“Oh Jesus Christ, yes,”
Ike said, closing his sad eyes.
“Hung like a race horse.”

“You can imagine”—
Ike said despairingly blue.
“My father was queer.”

“But also much worse”—
I love the next part of the
Long dirge of shame…

“Buck was a dinge queen—
and even worse he was a
Fuckin’ size queen too!!!”

That’s when the details—
Always got down & dirty.
The Negritude Noir.

Young Percival’s prick—
Twelve inches of mulatto
Shame and succulence.

Cuddle in his lap—
Like a new born dinge baby
Sucking his nipple.

His hard flat stomach—
Bent over slightly in bed
Proud & protective.

“If I had something—
as big & black as that one,
I’d be careful too.”

“Yeah, aint that for sure—
The lynch mobs would’ve loved to
Get their hands on it.”

“Yeah, and half the ladies—
in Yoknapatawpha County…
He had a nice one.”

“That’s why Buck bought him—
talk about a Black Beauty.
Ace of Spades pure black.”

“He kept Brownlee nude—
a kept man in dinge bondage
A slave to Buck’s desires.”

“All the other slaves—
freed from their old slavery
And free to depart.”

“Many chose to stay—
the only home they had known
after Dixie fell.”

“The old L.Q.C. mansion—
right outta Gone With the Wind
Slavery decaying.”

“Like Roman ruins—
Greek Revival old temples
Pealing white columns.”

“Rotting, dingy wrecks—
antebellum decadence
Negro loins unbound.”

“How much mulatto—
sperm & mandingo spluge
did Buck get from him?”

“22 Apr 1856 I’ll—
get it out of him” and
he did, every drop.”


“Mink’s feelings with
their complex combinations
of hetero- and homo-
eroticism may well be
those of numerous men
in Faulkner.”
—Noel Polk, “The Artist
as Cuckold,” Children of
the Dark House.

“Our lives took substance—
as of shadowy beings
marriage I suppose.”

“Buck & I freed them—
even let them have Father’s
Big White Mansion.”

“But still Buck condones—
sexual injustice with
him owning a slave.”

“A sexual slave—
to satisfy his own lust
owning Percavil.”

“Father may be dead—
Dide and buried 27 June 1837
But surely we’re cursed.”

“Buck worships the slave—
he’s the real slave to love now
all Jefferson knows.”

“They’re always smirking—
behind my back there in town
cuckold & cold-cocked.”

“No man is really—
forever manumitted
Buck is now the slave.”

“Caught in the act of—
dinge queen miss fellatio
giving him blowjobs.”

“Every man has his—
ledger page written in the
words of slavery.”

“Word for word it’s the—
story shame to Thucydus
Shame to McCaslins.”

“Pen-stroke by pen-stroke—
white (gay) progenitors
immutably queered.”

Finished, unaltered—
Bored, now harmless years later
These decaying books.

Stinking, forgotten—
Lantern sputtering in the
Rank deadening air.

No more, no nothing—
Old Carothers legacy
To his Negro sons.

His shadow sons and—
Shadow daughters with their white
Half-uncles and aunts.

Queerly enough the—
Slave-trading dinge descendents
With their negro dicks.

A youth not 21—
Begotten and deserted
By a gone father.

Now ensconced in the—
State Penitentiary
For manslaughter etc.

Some seed just aint bad—
It be dangerous bad seed
A McCaslin curse.

His Negro mother—
Divining instinctively
The death of her son.

“G” stands for “G” down—
And that’s what Butch Beauchamp does
All the way to Hell.

Percival Brownlee

“darker impulses
toward incest and
homoeroticism that
he cannot face”
—Noel Polk, “The Artist
as Cuckold,” Children of
the Dark House.

Percavil Brownlee—
Kept Man bought by Buck
Naked around home.

Can’t read, write or plough—
Good for nothing gigolo
Proud of his big dick.

Won’t let nobody—
Even touch it except Buck,
Wears a kimono.

Kisses Percival—
Black man now Master
What would Father say?



Smoke, Lilies and Jade

“…and Alex called
him Beauty…”
—Bruce Nugent,
“Smoke, Lilies and Jade,”
FIRE November 1926

I had a visit—
A surprise visitation
Late Saturday night.

A dinge noir affair—
A kind of Uranian
Fallen Angel (1945).

He needed money—
I took it out in dinge trade
A kid from the gym.

“…blowing smoke and
exchanging thoughts…”
—Bruce Nugent,
“Smoke, Lilies and Jade,”
FIRE November 1926

We had a nice chat—
He was truly a teenage
Rainier Beach beauty.

A young sophomore—
Bored going to high school there
By the swimming pool.

Little black ladies—
Getting their exercise just
Like me doing laps.

“…but beauty must
never know…”
—Bruce Nugent,
“Smoke, Lilies and Jade,”
FIRE November 1926

I met Black Beauty—
In the locker-room one day
Beauty’s lips were thick.

Thick like molasses—
Dark syrupy brown sugar
So very pouty.

I couldn’t help it—
I let him know by looking
He was no dummy.

“…Beauty couldn’t
—Bruce Nugent,
“Smoke, Lilies and Jade,”
FIRE November 1926

Surely he didn’t—
Really understand the truth
Naked, unvarnished.

The down on my knees—
Mouth-watering suckable
Suckulento truth?

My dirty white-boy—
Shameless desires & urges
For Mandingo love?

“…he felt a glow
of tremor…”
—Bruce Nugent,
“Smoke, Lilies and Jade,”
FIRE November 1926

Didn’t say a thing—
He was one of those sullen
Tall & silent types.

Obviously str8t—
His physique so butchy-poised
Like a cocked Luger.

Blue smoke curling soft—
Outta the sleek black barrel
Pulling his trigger.

“a field of blue smoke
and black poppies and
red calla lilies…”
—Bruce Nugent,
“Smoke, Lilies and Jade,”
FIRE November 1926

I didn’t have to—
Imagine it very long
When my doorbell rang.

Black Beauty stood there—
Holding a bouquet of white
Lilies just for me.

I had him nude soon—
Standing there erect with his
Petulant lilies.

“…on my hands and knees…
pushed aside a lily stem…
a lily…and suddenly he
stood erect…exultant…”
—Bruce Nugent,
“Smoke, Lilies and Jade,”
FIRE November 1926

My lily-white face—
Shamelessly blushing for him
My Voodoo Angel.

My Fallen Angel—
On a dark Saturday night
No Church tomorrow!

Bishop Long be Bad—
But I’m more Bad Boy than him
Down in Atlanta!

“…he was searching
and pushed aside lily
stems…and saw two
strong black legs…
dancer’s legs…”
—Bruce Nugent,
“Smoke, Lilies and Jade,”
FIRE November 1926

Strong thick athletic—
The kind of legs young boxers
Get there in the Ring.

Ran my hands over—
His nice smooth lean bubble-butt
Tender dinge loin-chops.

When I squeezed them tight—
He flexed them back just for me
I almost fainted.


“…the contours pleased
me…my eyes wandered
…on past the muscular
hocks to the firm white
thighs…past rounded
—Bruce Nugent,
“Smoke, Lilies and Jade,”
FIRE November 1926

Coolly observing—
My cat disdainfully yawned
At my lily love.

Down on my queer knees—
Embedded in the soft purr
Persian carpets.

Spreading the lilies—
Aside to reveal a dinge
Mighty Joe Young stud.

“…then the lithe narrow
waist…strong torso and
broad deep chest…the
wide shoulders…the
graceful muscled neck…”
—Bruce Nugent,
“Smoke, Lilies and Jade,”
FIRE November 1926

FIRE came out only—
In one single issue back
Then in 1926.

At the very height—
Of the Harlem Renaissance
Gay Black Homo Lit.

The younger Voices—
Nugent, Hurston & Thurman
Radically Black.
“…his brown eyes looking
at me…his hair curly and
black and all tousled…
and it was Beauty…”
—Bruce Nugent,
“Smoke, Lilies and Jade,”
FIRE November 1926

Black sugar tableaux—
Smoke, lilies & jaded lips
Queer pollen pubes.

Up…up…slowly up—
Not fast…not gloriously
But slowly upward.

His hands on my head—
Downward, downward straight as sin
Going down on him.

“…on my hands and knees…
pushing aside poppy stems
and lily stems…lilies…poppies
and bruised calla lilies…”
—Bruce Nugent,
“Smoke, Lilies and Jade,”
FIRE November 1926

Moonlight oozed down thru—
Voodoo Venetian blinds
I felt old ghosts moan.

Perhaps it was true—
Old Harlem be back in vogue
With me on my knees.

Mississippi mud—
Old Man River’s sad old sludge
Quivering young spluge.

“…slightly parting lips…
and straight little nose
with its slightly flaring
—Bruce Nugent,
“Smoke, Lilies and Jade,”
FIRE November 1926

He squeezed the lilies—
In his tight teenage sweaty
Banged-up knuckles fist.

All his young maleness—
Squeezed into that single nut
With its creamy cum.

Squeezing Harlem hips—
Mandingo nectar all the
Back from the Twenties.

“…and in his hand he
held…an ivory holder…
inlaid with red jade…
and green…”
—Bruce Nugent,
“Smoke, Lilies and Jade,”
FIRE November 1926

We smoked a fat joint—
My pulse was still hammering
Lips to finger tips…

Softly staccato—
Armstrong playing way back then
“Why Am I So Blue?”

His thick pouty lips—
Press against mine cool & hard
We do it again.

“…such a dream…white calla
lilies…white calla lilies…what
could it mean…did dreams
have meanings…thousands…
—Bruce Nugent,
“Smoke, Lilies and Jade,”
FIRE November 1926

Long stemmed lily-white—
Bending down as I did him
They’re in a vase now.

The blue night has gone—
A rose dawn drifts thru windows
Silent living room.

I can still taste him—
Black beauty of the blue night
Harlem back again.


Robert Mapplethorpe,
“Dennis Speight” (1983)

Dennis Speight

“…pushed aside
a lily stem…a lily…
and suddenly he
stood erect…exultant…”
—Bruce Nugent,
“Smoke, Lilies and Jade,”
FIRE November 1926

Dennis Speight holding—
Sheaf of six calla lilies
Orgasmic bouquet.

Six of them shooting—
White seminal flowerings
Up from his dark groin.

Lilies springing up—
Engorged with their own juices
Between his tight fists.

Saturday, January 22, 2011


—for Essex Hemphill

I give you flashes—
Of my gay boyhood lover
My dinge kid brother.

Our ruptured bloodlines—
Seized by dinge brotherly love
Down there on my knees.

Drawing blood fighting—
Would be a lot easier
Then just making love.

Your violent cum—
Sure didn’t come outta you
The easy way, man.

My bruised homo lips—
All black & blue just for you
And your bedroom eyes.

How come it hurt bad—
Intimate black brotherhood
Letting me have some?

You didn’t want them—
To know I was queer for you
My hung cute brother?

But who didn’t know—
Everybody knew it
Dingeville USA.

It wasn’t boyhood—
It wasn’t manhood either
It was prime dinge meat.

You knew I craved it—
But you did the sixty-nine
Down-low on yourself.

How selfish you were—
Not wanting to share a drop
Of your runny spluge.

Not until you whored me—
Playing pimp with your big dick
Made me pay for it.

But what the fuck man—
I gladly pawned mother’s jewels
To buy your dinge love.

Mother’s bridge parties—
Lifting money outta the
Drunk ladies’ purses.

Even got a job—
As a soda-jerk uptown
To jerk you off nice.

My cute blood brother—
How many sons & daughters
Got sucked outta you?

Never easy tho—
You tried to hold it back some
Despising my lips.

You didn’t want to—
But you were broke & needed
Money for your weed.

Playing big shot then—
Sixteen years old & haughty
Denigrating me.

Nothing could be as—
Shameful as a cocksucking
Older gay brother.

Guilting me real bad—
With each Voodoo Hoodoo wad
Outta Africa.

Mandingo manhood—
Down to the last dick-wiggle
Smirking as you groaned.

Treating me like shit—
Dirty trailer trash white boy
Doing the down-low.

The Dick of My Father
—for Etheridge Knight

There are no big dicks—
In my proud family tree
Only skulls with grins.

My dinge father’s skull—
Big as the Mississippi
Moon over Memphis.

My dinge father’s dick—
There in the bottom of the
Tallahatchie mud.

My mother a whore—
In Miss Reba’s dark House of
Skanky ill repute.

My father got lynched—
Because he was a young black
Stud back from the war.

His name Joe Christmas—
They strung him up like a nice
Xmas tree in a barn.

Whatever they cut—
Was as much a part of me
As it was of him.

It feels like a knife—
And a lynching down there
Between my two legs.

I get paranoid—
Making love to my girlfriend
I cum always scared.

My father’s skull grins—
Beneath the Tallahatchie
Somewhere down there deep.

For Black Gay Poets

Who Think White
—for Etheridge Knight

Black gay poets aren’t—
Like white boyz who think pussy
All the time is great.

Black gay poets don’t—
Give a royal goddamn for things
That white boyz want bad.

Black gay poets can’t—
Write about black gay desire
Without naming it.

Black gay poets won’t—
Get down like Mapplethorpe did
And praise black twelve inches.

Black gay poets shrug—
At white boyz as warriors
Dying with trumpets.

Black gay poets shake—
Their heads at nelly black queens
Hiding in church choirs.

Black gay poets don’t—
Belong to the Black People
And the Movement now.

Black gay poets are—
Voodoo Hoodoo walking dead
In the Zombie Night.

The Idea of Ancestry
—for Etheridge Knight

I got all of them—
Deep in here inside my guts
Coiled inside my nuts.

My testicles ache—
With dinge ancestor worship
Dinge, black, high yellow.

My girlfriend left me—
So when I spluge I get blue
With progeny guilt.

I had a boyfriend—
Who liked to bottom for me
I kinda liked him.

When I was sixteen—
The gay Baptist minister
Got down on his knees.

I baptized his face—
With spluge douchebag disrespect
Take this Jesus-freak.

I get real nervous—
In the club when guyz want me
Black meat cannibals.

A Poem of Attrition
—for Etheridge Knight

It’s all bloody red—
On the inside he likes to
Point out afterwards.

My dinge kid brother—
Lighter-skinned than me except
For his black ten inches.

That’s because he had—
A different father who
Who was albino.

Better looking like—
His pretty redhead mother
Than I’d ever be.

He could be white boy—
Except for his Mandingo dick
Talk of the gym class.

Me I’m butt-ugly—
Like my used-car salesman dad
Gimpy sad-sack fuck.

Both of them dead now—
Even tho their blood slithers
Thru my useless veins.

I feel better tho—
After some incestuous

Getting young Tyrone—
Tasting what could’ve been me
His jizzy nutsac.

I’ve got this problem—
It’s called black penis envy
I wanna be him.

He knows I want it—
I’ve watched Tyrone grow pubes
Since the 7th grade.

Getting his nut off—
Is serious business
Our Family Tree.

Knowing each jizz-wad—
Is where he’s cuming from
And where it’s going.

Sounds kinda dirty—
But it gets down & dirty
Swallowing it slow.



Caribbean Sunrise
—for Langston Hughes

In the beginning—
God has this grand orgasm
Staining Carib gold.

Gulf of Mexico Sailorboy
—for Langston Hughes

Like Hart Crane I take—
The Orizaba back home
But I don’t jump in.

I do gag a lot—
Getting it down below deck
With a cute sailor.

New Orleans
—for Langston Hughes

Goodbye, sailor boy—
Wanna drink some cognac
To bid fair adieux?

“I like beer better”—
He says as we wander down
To the View Carré.

He’s got sailor’s legs—
All weak & wobbly from sea
“It’s solid land, kid.”

We spend the long night—
In a French Quarter hotel
He gets off 3 times.

Water-Front Streets
—for Langston Hughes

New Orleans is big—
Canal Street runs a long way
And life is so gay.

Boys put out to sea—
With beauty between their legs
Plus some dreams like me.

Long Trip
—for Langston Hughes

The sea is a bed—
Of sailorboyz & roses
Rising and falling.

Sleeping in hammocks—
Swinging & swaying all night
The sea is jealous.

—for Langston Hughes

You’re like the big sea—
Without the stars way above
In your eyes instead.

We’re sailing deep—
Without dreams & wide-awake
Making love all night.

Pierrot and Pierre
—for Langston Hughes

Pierrot and Pierre—
Were lovers when they were boyz
But they both grew up.

Pierre gets married—
Making Pierrot wonder why
He misses Pierre’s love.

“I’m a simple man”—
Pierre says, slaving away
For his wife and kids.

So Pierrot leaves him—
Gets to know lots of sailors
Way out there at sea.

Pierrot gets to see—
A world of young sailor boyz
And loves every one.

Pierre misses Pierrot—
But thinks Pierrot steep in sin
Way out there at sea.

Pierrot loves the sea—
And loves a slim cabin boy
Since he’s the captain.

A Young Friend
—for Langston Hughes

“I loved my friend.
He went away from me.
There’s nothing more to say.
The poem ends,
Soft as it began—
I loved my friend.”
—Langston Hughes,
“Poem 2,” Collected
Poems of Langston Hughes

I loved my young friend—
So tall, lanky and slender
His virile male charms.

A wise-ass like Puck—
Hung like Ariel the horse
Women loved him bad.

So solid and hard—
His knees got rubbery like
A drunk sailor boy.

That’s when he came by—
To be a “sinner” with me
And go “straight to hell.”

That’s how he got it—
Outta his tortured system
He be preacher’s boy.

He let me have it—
It came hell or high water
The jizzy Scripture.

And then he waited—
For Jesus to strike him blind
But nothing happened.

So we made love and—
Did it again & again
Jesus, he was fine!

Harlem Night Song
—for Langston Hughes

Bruce Nugent so cute—
Van Vechten and all the rest
Excited by him.

When we roam the streets—
Harlem midnights get hopping
Italian boyz!!!

They really love Bruce—
He gets along with Latins
Both young and old.

The moon is shining—
Down on the Harlem rooftops
A band is playing.

Jazz seeps out into—
The wet slick neo-lit streets
Bruce my femme fatale.

Smoke, Lilies and Jade
—for Bruce Nugent

Bruce wants to do—
To do something like Langston
To write or to sing.

Instead he ends up—
Doing Langston Hughes
All night long in bed.

Two Harlem poets—
In Niggeratti Manor
Smoking some reefer.

Wallace Thurman smiles—
“It’s about time,” Wallace says
“Gimme that Black Fire!!!”

The Night Harlem Dies
—for Langston Hughes

Langston wakes me up—
He seems so very strange then
Middle of the night.

Nervous, whispering—
“I think Harlem’s dead tonight”
and then he clams up.

Disconnected thoughts—
How can such a thing be true
We go back to sleep.

The in the morning—
The Stock Market Crash is news
There goes the Twenties.

After 10 years of—
Harlem Renaissance Fast Times
The money done left.

—for Bruce Nugent

Blowing smoke-rings high—
One after the other up
To the high ceiling.

Blowing the blue smoke—
From an ivory holder
Jaded with a joint.

Jade and ivory—
My pomegranate juice lips
Pale smoke silver moon.

Harlem days over—
No more stairway to heaven
Pseudo-grandeur gone.

Langston is down there—
Hiding under my bed in
Niggeratti Manor.

—for Langston Hughes

Zora shines at night—
Her stories from way back when
Voodoo HooDoo girl..

She spends one whole night—
With a rattlesnake tied-flat
To her sleepless back.

Hissing and rattling—
Whenever she moves around
She wants to learn.

Her Teacher teaches her—
Voodoo and folk tales to get
Her in the right place.

His yellow silk shirt—
And smooth black velvet trousers
And a long black cape.

It made her want to—
Invent her own folk tales
To write them like Hughes.

Black Beauty
—for Langston Hughes

He has narrow hips—
Slightly pouty lips with a
Graceful slender neck.

The smooth male contours—
Two gracefully curving legs
Wide erect nostrils.

Mandingo brown eyes—
Looking straight thru everything
Black poppy stem smile.

Beauty closes his eyes—
Why does he look that way
Beauty’s strength so shy?

Red calla lilies—
Nice thick puffy sexy lips
Blue smoke, dancer’s legs.

Langston in Love
—for Langston Hughes

Black poppies, red calla lips—
Down past his muscular hocks
Thighs and nice tight hips.

His black curly hair—
His lithe narrow waist
Flat stomach, Greek nose.

Wide and strong shoulders—
Physique athletic and sleek
It is Black Beauty.

Dark ringed bedroom eyes—
Temperamental nostrils
Beauty’s lips touching mine.

Langston’s temples throb—
His pulse hammers from his wrist
To his fingertips.

—for Langston Hughes

“You want
his pleasure”
—Alex Hemphill
“If His Name
Were Mandingo,”

He wants him bad—
From the minute he sees him
What more can I say?

It is a black club—
Full of young men dancing
Big easy dinge dick.

Black Club
—for Langston Hughes

“his seed
dilutes in
your blood”
—Alex Hemphill
“If His Name
Were Mandingo,”

Afterwards I can—
Still taste him that skanky way
When I get him off.

Not just a dew-drop—
More like a thick tablespoon
Of crocodile cum.

“He’s only
visible in
the dark”
—Alex Hemphill
“If His Name
Were Mandingo,”

I get to see him—
Back in my friend’s apartment
Cute Mandingo kid.

We turn out the light—
All I can smell is his groin
And his damp armpits.

Looking for Langston (1989)

“My fiction
has been
ahead of me”
—Ishmael Reed,
“Distant Cousins,”
Airing Dirty Laundry

They kept it secret—
The Langston Hughes Estate back then
A dark dinge secret.

“Looking for Langston”—
They fought that movie for years
Sacred Harlem closet.

George Bass the Executor
Langston’s lover boy.

A secret shocker—
Undressing Harlem’s icons
Oh Lordy, Lordy!!!

The real story of—
The Gay Harlem Renaissance
Langston Hughes in love.

Hiding Langston in the Closet

“Ishmael Reed,
you aint nothin’
but a gagster
and a con-artist!”
—Ralph Ellison,
The Reed Reader

When I read that quote—
Black closetry suddenly
Rears its ugly head.

Like DADT—
Gay desire gets shoved back in
The Negro Closet.

Black academe—
Teaching homophobia
No black gay desires!

The Executor—
Of the Hughes Estate says no
To the Langston film.

George Bass acting as—
Secretary to Langston
Gay? Heaven Forbid!

Colored censorship—
Turns out to be even worse
Than whitey’s version.

No gay poets here!!!—
Just “Cotton-patch” history
As Malcolm X says.

—for Langston Hughes

Oh, family tree!
Oh, shining spluge of the soul!
Help poor closet me!

A Harlem harlot—
Giving head to jazz players
Jizzy paradise!

Oh, family tree!
Oh, shining spluge of the soul!
Niggeratti girl!

Am I just Bad Seed?—
Tainted genealogy?
My lips just too bold?

Oh, family tree!
Oh, shining spluge of the soul!
Mulatto poet?

Afro-American Fragment
—for Langston Hughes

So long, far away—
Africa not even gone
Memory back then.

Like when I beat off—
A strange un-Negro tongue says
So long, far away.

Are those drums I hear—
My atavistic yearnings
Spluging blood & tears?

—for Langston Hughes

Desire for us was—
A swift dying double death
Mingling our last breath.

Between us quickly—
The Niggeratti Manor
In a naked room.

Dream Boogie
—for Langston Hughes

I keep hearing it—
That boogie-woogie rumble
Beating off down there.

That gone dream boogie—
When Harlem was hot back then
During the Twenties.

Something happened tho—
A dream deferred came for me
They took it away.

Dream Variation
—for Langston Hughes

Dark be after me—
No more whirling & dancing
Harlem cabarets.

Dark be inside me—
Those old blues have done me in
Can’t do nothin’ tho.

Dark be scaring me—
No more quickie rendezvous
Tender is the night?

Nightmare World
—for Langston Hughes

Yes, I have a dream—
Or rather the dream had me
And it scorned me bad.

A nightmare dream where—
Men cursed the earth & the sea
They cursed each other.

A world where freedom—
Was denied to everyone
Not just the Negro.

Greed & avarice—
Sapped the soul & blighted both
Day & night& dreams.

There wasn’t any—
Black, white, red, brown or yellow
Only wretched slobs.

There wasn’t one pearl—
Of happiness left around
Just long-deferred dreams.

Thursday, January 20, 2011



—for Ralph Ellison

“It’s cotton-patch history”
—Malcolm X

ralph ellison is—
outside our history books
but into himself.

i’m invisible myself—
it’s a lot darker in here
than i ever thought.

But Nobody Was There
—for Ishmael Reed

i heard ralph ellison in the other room—
i entered the room, but nobody was there.

i heard the invisible man in the silverware—
i opened the drawer, but nobody was there.

i heard ellison’s 2nd novel creeping up the stairs—
i opened the door, but nobody was there.

i saw ellison’s spirit sitting in a chair—
i turned my head, but nobody was there.

i heard richard wright laughing upstairs—
but when i went up there, nobody was there.

i smelled the stink of new york intelligentsia—
but when i opened the bathroom door, they aint there.

i dreamed ralph ellison was a gangster con-artist—
but when i woke up, nobody was there.

Harlem Mumbo Jumbo
—for Bruce Nugent

oh harlem, harlem—
negro sea of dinge unrest
engulf me, harlem.

oh harlem, harlem—

submerge me in jazz—
gay cabaret, dinge drag nights
tom-toms & seashells.

oh harlem, harlem—

pollute your swift waves—
claw-snapping crabs let them play
summon the dead tides.

oh harlem, harlem—

oh harlem, harlem—
blaxploitation bijou boy
show me a movie.

The Niggerati Late Show
—for Wallace Thurman, Zora Neale Hurston,
Langston Hughes, Bruce Nugent

the harlem bijou—
shows the best blaxploitation
flicks in the village.

harlem is buzzing—
up there in the balcony
it’s dinge down-low time.

mumbo jumbo night—
the niggeratti late show
up in nigger heaven.

skanky portmanteau—
niggeratti do it too
dinge sci-fi flicks.

Jes Grew

“so jes grew is
seeking new worlds.
its text. for what
good is a liturgy
without a text?”

once i knew this guy—
who was a mandingo man
and didn’t know it.

jes grew possessed him—
the spirits they spoke thru him
mumbo jumbo words.

the mandingo man—
jes grew ecstatically
with ebullience.

Place Congo

place congo was packed—
charta the babouille
counjaille juba.

hoodoo voodoo man—
he jes grew outta the blue
that mandingo man.

jes grew lovers say—
he just grew & took over
out of voodoo blue.

Unknown New Loas

good-looking cajuns—
spanish, french, creole guys
delight in the gods.

unknown new loas—
who never could be explained
new demigods born.

the mandingo man—
invited african gods
to america.

Kongo Possessed

letting new spirits—
zulu ukulu kulu
seize the new horses.

black python hotwired—
his green & black twisted face
land of the panther.

be kongo possessed—
skunk bones, jew’s harp, kazoos
flutes, drums, conch horns, blood.

Speaking in Tongues

then he spoke in tongues—
he had no class or finesse
no consciousness.

he was demonic—
psychic apocalyptic
doors opened & shut.

a shadowy man—
inhales a fat juju joint
behaves skittishly.

Hoodoo Queen Laveau

the hoodoo queen bee—
she be giving sermonette
nude in her foxskins.

near place congo—
the judas-eye door opens
mulatto walks in.

all the parish priests—
uncontrollable frenzies
wiggling like catfish.

Dinge Planet

bootlegged dinge planet—
shameless brazen cokeheads
the creeping thing’s back.

hoodoo queen laveau—
at st. louis cathedral
singing for us now.

my doo-wacka-doo—
voo-do-de-odo fizgig
virile voyant man.

The Future

we jump into my—
statz bearcat there by the church
there’s no time to lose.

it leaks, bleeds, sucks, gnaws—
it devours anything alive
it’s the dinge future.

Text Automatique

What comes out is words—
Obscenely unprintable

krazy kat is there—
bumping & grinding away
they call the guard up.

flabber-ghasted ghost—
“holly mackerel, andy!”
jes grew’s back again!

Harlem Hooligans

harlem hooligans—
sodom & gomorrah queens
queer bohemians.

robber barons and—
big old magnets back up from
gulf of mexico.

jes grew fetishes—
sleazy all street con-artists
ponzi game tycoons.

Zombie Invasion

haiti slave omens—
arizona wetback wars
halliburton whores.

beltway lobbyists—
rotting temple houngan times
still growin’ cotton.

gemini rising—
born on the 4th of july
mercurial kitsch.

Pirate Thugs

gluttonous fat lips—
tobacco auctioneer sluts
new world pirate thugs.

there’s a sucker born—
every fuckin’ minute
at chez mandingo.

jes grew makes you doubt—
that anything can be done
about dirty white boyz.

After Katrina

after katrina—
new orleans is a mess
but voodoo is still alive.

it sleeps in the night—
speaking in tongues way down deep
whenever we dream

jes grew is still there—
shadowy sleuths can’t find him
he be invisible.

HooDoo Voodoo

mulatto eyeballs—
an octoroon big penis
can you hear him groan?

he be high yellow—
lafayette cemetery
his abode’s portal.

alleys, bars, streetcars—
vieux carré beauty parlors
that be where he be?

Van Vechten

he be bewitched planet—
harlem renaissance
just ask van vechten.

cumly chimeras—
aetheric ‘20s double
auras still remain.

speak-easy hearses—
chrome upper-lip cadillacs
pensive bootleg boyz.

Mandingo Planet

harlem cabarets—
niggeratti manor queens
hughes, nugent, thurmond.

forbidden planet—
big easy then big apple
mandingo planet.

HooDoo Voodoo Sci-Fi
—for Samuel R. Delany

another late night at the bijou
the invisible man in the balcony
schmoozing with all the white trash boyz
those lingering bored dirty white boy hands
trying to get inside his yoknapatawpha junk

dirty white boyz can be such ignorant slugs
searching for new ways to feel themselves up
playing with queering faulkner like they do
those dayz at old miss conferences trying
to relate to gay quentin’s queerness.

after all, well, just look at joe
a lot of men like joe christmas get had
the light in august, the sacrilege of
going down on moses, then coming up
as mulatto mandingo voodoo hoodoo boy.

like they be charles bon the beautiful
exiled son & heir of the sutpen dynasty
from his loins will flow jim bond and
charles etienne de saint valery bon
up the mississippi to chicago & beyond.

and even tho henry will shoot him
there at the gates of sutpen’s hundred
‘cause he didn’t wanna marry judith his sister
didn’t want henry as his lover brother-in-law
‘cause he had a big easy wife & kid already.

like he’s got this lynching goin’ on down there
between his legs just like any joe christmas
it goes back to the dark fatherhead that’s
brothered perennial & ubiquitous inside all
the boy flesh ambiguous beneath the stars.

butch beauchamp, shreve mccannon,
quentin compson, henry sutpen, dalton ames,
joe christmas, charles bon, even old man
mccaslin’s incestuous fucking with his own
daughter tomasina—delta dinge rules.

let us pray for this white trash world
and all the dirty white boyz sprung from
the loins of african kings, becoming brothers
albinos, mulattos, high yellows, octoroons
slowly turning invisible planet around.