DINGE QUEEN
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Tyrone’s Dirty Shorts
“His own daughter!!!
His own daughter!!!
No No Not even him!!!”
—William Faulkner,
Go Down, Moses
I was simply shocked—
They were still damp with cum-stains
Tyrone’s dirty shorts.
I found them hidden—
In Tyrone’s bedroom under
His bed there upstairs.
Several wads of cum—
His shorts were simply filthy
They stunk just awful.
Not just with old wads—
But they reeked with smegma too
I inhaled it all…
I couldn’t believe—
My innocent kid brother
Was so seminal.
Was this like Caddy—
Benjy & Quentin weak-kneed
Over the same thing?
Was this what Faulkner—
Was getting at way back then
Dirty shorts eros?
Sound and the Fury
Always intriguing—
That scene in Faulkner’s novel
Caddy in the tree.
Her dirty shorts up—
There in the tree as she peered
Into the bedroom.
Mystery of death—
The dead body on the bed
Caddy’s young pussy.
It always seemed like—
Much too heterosexual
Who cared about that?
And yet here I was—
Trembling with a pair of shorts
Getting off on them.
All of a sudden—
I got weak in the knees and
Almost fainted then.
Tyrone was so young—
Like Caddy up in the tree
Dirty spermy drawers.
Gender Fuck
They stunk so bad that—
I couldn’t get enough of
Tyrone inside me.
A junior high kid—
Shooting his brains out that way
Jesus it was hot.
That’s how he found me—
Beating off in his bed bad
With his bad-boy shorts.
Burying my face—
Stuffing my mouth & nostrils
His Mandingo cum.
I’d been so stupid—
Tyrone’s young adolescent
Hormones had kicked in.
I should have known it—
The soft Peachfuzz sprouting there
On his upper lip.
The way he’d begun—
Pouting & acting moody
When I looked at him.
The Smirk
I felt the same way—
The incestuous way that
Quentin must have felt.
Tyrone closed the door—
And locked it without saying
Anything at all.
He took his clothes off—
And stood there in front of the
Mirror nude erect.
My gawd, he was hung—
How could a chicken be so
Fuckin’ well-endowed?
First it was 10 inches—
Then Tyrone stroked it some more
Jesus, twelve inches!!!
He pealed back the head—
Pink like Halloween candy
Black licorice shaft.
I couldn’t believe—
How much smegma he possessed
I licked it all up!!!
Dark Meat
I was queer Quentin—
No doubt about it, my dear
I knew it for sure.
My own Roman vase—
How I rimmed him & got him
Off there in his bed.
No more dirty shorts—
With me waiting after school
My dirty queer lips.
Like what can I say?—
Faulkner has already said it all
I’m a Quentin clone.
Tyrone be Caddy—
But also he’s Benjy too
When he goes spastic.
My child-idiot—
I loved it when he lost it
He’d become all-dick.
Gimpy spaz chicken—
All penis & pheromones
Oh, those damp armpits!!!
The Prick and the Fury
That’s my gender-fuck—
Story within a story
Incestuous love.
Miscegenation?—
His black meat made it that way
I be a dinge queen.
He was albino—
His skin pale yellow & smooth
Our mother’s love child.
After her divorce—
She shacked up in Chicago
Jazz alt-sax player.
A swanky nightclub—
She lived with him for a year
Tyrone their OFFSPRING.
That’s how Tyrone came—
SPRING! SPRANG! SPRUNG! SPRONG!
All the way, baby!!!
Each time different—
But each time down & dirty
No wonder I’m QUEER!!!
Guilty Attractions
I was just like Ike—
And his two homo uncles
I had it real bad.
Like Henry Sutpen—
Queer for his half-brother Bon
Bon the Beautiful.
I had the same thing—
Horace Benbow’s guilty love
For Little Belle.
Guilty attractions—
They work that way dontchaknow
Just like Pulp Fiction.
Sanctuary love—
Dirty paperback romance
It sold pretty good.
Faulkner’s shadow life—
The Old Colonel’s mulatto
Shadow family.
Not much difference—
Between apocryphal facts
And Family fiction…
Dinge Queen Guilt
Did I feel guilty?—
Making love to young Tyrone?
Did I exploit him?
Miscegenal cum—
Philoprogenitive jizz
I got all I could.
If Faulkner did it—
Reconstitute history
So could fuckin’ me.
The more guilty and—
Ashamed I felt the better
I aint no poor Ike.
I got my own past—
I’ve gone over the Ledgers
And they aren’t pretty.
Like Buck & Billy—
Percival Brownlee was my
Dinge hung kid brother.
I got him off good—
African-American
Cum runs thru my veins.
“His own daughter!!!
His own daughter!!!
No No Not even him!!!”
—William Faulkner,
Go Down, Moses
I was simply shocked—
They were still damp with cum-stains
Tyrone’s dirty shorts.
I found them hidden—
In Tyrone’s bedroom under
His bed there upstairs.
Several wads of cum—
His shorts were simply filthy
They stunk just awful.
Not just with old wads—
But they reeked with smegma too
I inhaled it all…
I couldn’t believe—
My innocent kid brother
Was so seminal.
Was this like Caddy—
Benjy & Quentin weak-kneed
Over the same thing?
Was this what Faulkner—
Was getting at way back then
Dirty shorts eros?
Sound and the Fury
Always intriguing—
That scene in Faulkner’s novel
Caddy in the tree.
Her dirty shorts up—
There in the tree as she peered
Into the bedroom.
Mystery of death—
The dead body on the bed
Caddy’s young pussy.
It always seemed like—
Much too heterosexual
Who cared about that?
And yet here I was—
Trembling with a pair of shorts
Getting off on them.
All of a sudden—
I got weak in the knees and
Almost fainted then.
Tyrone was so young—
Like Caddy up in the tree
Dirty spermy drawers.
Gender Fuck
They stunk so bad that—
I couldn’t get enough of
Tyrone inside me.
A junior high kid—
Shooting his brains out that way
Jesus it was hot.
That’s how he found me—
Beating off in his bed bad
With his bad-boy shorts.
Burying my face—
Stuffing my mouth & nostrils
His Mandingo cum.
I’d been so stupid—
Tyrone’s young adolescent
Hormones had kicked in.
I should have known it—
The soft Peachfuzz sprouting there
On his upper lip.
The way he’d begun—
Pouting & acting moody
When I looked at him.
The Smirk
I felt the same way—
The incestuous way that
Quentin must have felt.
Tyrone closed the door—
And locked it without saying
Anything at all.
He took his clothes off—
And stood there in front of the
Mirror nude erect.
My gawd, he was hung—
How could a chicken be so
Fuckin’ well-endowed?
First it was 10 inches—
Then Tyrone stroked it some more
Jesus, twelve inches!!!
He pealed back the head—
Pink like Halloween candy
Black licorice shaft.
I couldn’t believe—
How much smegma he possessed
I licked it all up!!!
Dark Meat
I was queer Quentin—
No doubt about it, my dear
I knew it for sure.
My own Roman vase—
How I rimmed him & got him
Off there in his bed.
No more dirty shorts—
With me waiting after school
My dirty queer lips.
Like what can I say?—
Faulkner has already said it all
I’m a Quentin clone.
Tyrone be Caddy—
But also he’s Benjy too
When he goes spastic.
My child-idiot—
I loved it when he lost it
He’d become all-dick.
Gimpy spaz chicken—
All penis & pheromones
Oh, those damp armpits!!!
The Prick and the Fury
That’s my gender-fuck—
Story within a story
Incestuous love.
Miscegenation?—
His black meat made it that way
I be a dinge queen.
He was albino—
His skin pale yellow & smooth
Our mother’s love child.
After her divorce—
She shacked up in Chicago
Jazz alt-sax player.
A swanky nightclub—
She lived with him for a year
Tyrone their OFFSPRING.
That’s how Tyrone came—
SPRING! SPRANG! SPRUNG! SPRONG!
All the way, baby!!!
Each time different—
But each time down & dirty
No wonder I’m QUEER!!!
Guilty Attractions
I was just like Ike—
And his two homo uncles
I had it real bad.
Like Henry Sutpen—
Queer for his half-brother Bon
Bon the Beautiful.
I had the same thing—
Horace Benbow’s guilty love
For Little Belle.
Guilty attractions—
They work that way dontchaknow
Just like Pulp Fiction.
Sanctuary love—
Dirty paperback romance
It sold pretty good.
Faulkner’s shadow life—
The Old Colonel’s mulatto
Shadow family.
Not much difference—
Between apocryphal facts
And Family fiction…
Dinge Queen Guilt
Did I feel guilty?—
Making love to young Tyrone?
Did I exploit him?
Miscegenal cum—
Philoprogenitive jizz
I got all I could.
If Faulkner did it—
Reconstitute history
So could fuckin’ me.
The more guilty and—
Ashamed I felt the better
I aint no poor Ike.
I got my own past—
I’ve gone over the Ledgers
And they aren’t pretty.
Like Buck & Billy—
Percival Brownlee was my
Dinge hung kid brother.
I got him off good—
African-American
Cum runs thru my veins.
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