Friday, March 18, 2011



Romancing Tyrone

“At the dark street corner
where Guilt and Desire
are attempting to stare
each other down”
—James Baldwin,
“Guilt, Desire and Love,”
Jimmy’s Blues

I repent it all—
As if it does any good.
Just another lie.

Just one of many—
I’ve told, retold & believed
Lies I told Tyrone.

The big lie that he—
Would never ever believe
Even tho I tried…

That I had never—
Slept with another Negro
Young man just like him.

And it was so true—
Cross my legs & hope to die
Just dirty white boyz…

Dirty White Boyz

He just smirked at me—
After all I was really
The dirty white boy.

I was desperate—
For Tyrone’s nice you-know-what.
I be a dinge queen.

He just said “Shut up”—
“Don’t gimme that white trash shit,
Get down faggot lips.”

And they all knew it—
Tyrone had dropped outta school
They guyz stared at it.

The white girlz stared too—
The phone would ring at midnight
I got so jealous.

Bulldog Boy

Every time I lied—
Or tried to run away from
Myself in highschool.

I found myself like—
Always brought up short by the
Young bulldog in bed.

Not in the backyard—
Tyrone didn’t bark that much
All he did was snarl.

What do you expect—
From a younger kid brother
Other than just that?

Sibling rivalry—
He was just sixteen-years-old
And I was eighteen…


Tyrone wasn’t nice—
A moody adolescent
He was dark & quick.

But he could be slow—
When he wanted to slow-fuck
Or when I rimmed him.

My gay friends thought that—
It was a horrifying
Thing I was doing.

Taking advantage—
Of his virgin innocence
And big black penis.

I was tainting him—
Forbidden incestuous
Wads of babypaste.

Gay Genealogist

I couldn’t help it—
My gynecological lips,
Our family tree.

I got to know it—
The Root of Good & Evil
Each vein, artery.

Got my lips on it—
Somebody had to do it
Sucking Tyrone off.

Tyrone limped a lot—
His penis got even more
Black & blue & sprained.

I held it for him—
Standing behind him as he
Peed in the commode.

Anatomy of Love

Tyrone’s black penis—
Wasn’t like mine, more like a
Young thoroughbred horse.

He had this dick-slit—
It was at least an inch long
He’d pee in two streams.

One in the toilet—
The other down on the floor
So animal like…

I could feel his hips—
Quiver like a Kentucky
Racehorse in the gate.

I knew how to make—
A guy cum real nice & hard
With my jockey lips.

Tyrone in Love

Tyrone be in love—
With himself, of course, not me
He was proud of it.

“What’s the matter, kid?”—
“I think I gotta get off…
C’mon, do me quick…

That’s how it happened—
In the middle of the night
We slept together.

Sometimes he’d get these—
Wetdreams all of a sudden
Outta the dinge blue…

I had to be quick—
I didn’t want Tyrone to waste
One single male squirt!!!

Nocturnal Emissions

After I got them—
His helpless dream-like

He’d just shake his head—
“It must’ve been those fuckin’
bed-bugs that bit me?”

“I don’t bite,” I said—
I like to gum you to death.
Gotta be quick tho…

His teenage hormones—
Were coursing thru his bloodstream
He couldn’t help it.

And his damp armpits—
Stinky with male pheromones
Quivering nostrils.


Tyrone looked at me—
His mouth hanging half-open
I was the expert.

Gawd knows he wasted—
So much doing sixty-nine

He abused himself—
Walnut Elementary
Up to the tenth grade.

Cumly sophomore—
Before I caught him after
School beating off fast.

I barely had time—
To get my queer lips on him
Such exquisite slime!!!

Addicted to It

What can I say?—
That I haven’t said before
I discovered God!!!

Gawd knows how many—
Times I got young Tyrone off
It was just sinful…

He grabbed my head tight—
His dark eyes getting bigger
No laughing matter.

Deadly serious—
We weren’t playin’ any games
I felt him up lots.

Like when he lost it—
Nothing like a cute spastic
Turning inside-out.

Doomed Dinge

So vulnerable—
Like a trembling little bird
With a broken wing.

A basket of eggs—
Squeezed too hard between us both
Oozing down his leg.

Sticky yellow yolk—
Runny clear young male mucous
In the thirsty heat…

A dreadful stirring—
Some Mandingo Hoodoo cum
I tasted manhood.

I felt it stretching—
Down my throat into my
Own cumming cock.


When the morning came—
It was a lifetime later
I could still taste him.

I wanted to touch—
Him just like last night
But something stopped me.

Mother was standing—
There in the bedroom doorway
On her way to work.

Tyrone had been her—
From a previous marriage
Her second lover.

My no-good father—
Had divorced her way back then:
She’d been adopted.

Her dinge Ledger there—
On the kitchen table with
Her black heritage.

Mommy Dearest

Later she told me—
Smoking a cigarette and
Sipping a cocktail.

Her mother was black—
Her real father a lawyer
She’d been his young maid.

He was wealthy so—
He had the kid adopted
A high-yellow girl.

Mother a red-head—
She could easily pass as
Cute Rita Hayworth.

So when her husband—
Ditched her, she went back
To Chicago her home.

The Sax Player

She accepted it—
Her Afro-American
Proud black heritage.

She wanted some guy—
A young Mandingo to fuck
Her silly & forget…

Windy City had—
Plenty of black swanky nightclubs
Waiting to get her.

She fell for a guy—
Tyrone’s future father who
Played the saxophone.

She got into jazz—
He got inside her panties
She needed it bad.

Tyrone the Love Child

Mother came back home—
She inherited money
Her rich step-parents.

A small college town—
She bought an apartment house
Called The Dinge Towers.

It was Art Deco—
After the Streamline Modern
Architecture style.

That’s where we grew up—
Mother dearest, handsome Tyrone
And yours truly, my dears.

Mother was quite gay—
She & her lesbian lover
The talk of the town.

Dinge Ennui

Gay bildungsroman—
Simply wearied me silly
Who cared who I was?

Being unconscious—
Retreating from the brutal
Bourgeois white trash crowd.

Oh & by the way—
My mother’s lezbo lover
Was a black woman.

She was such great fun—
She be Butterfly McQueen
“Atlanta’s burning!!!”

Didn’t know nothin’—
About birthing young babies
Or two boyz like us…

Dinge Confessions

I never felt it—
Feeling betrayed or left out
No angst bothered me.

I couldn’t help it—
Tyrone was all I wanted
Mother be happy.

Tyrone wanted to—
Find himself but then of course
That’s natural, right?

He be Native Son—
While I be Giovanni
I be a Killer.

All I wanted was—
To strangle his dick to death
Becoming Tyrone…

Addicted to Dinge

I was one of those—
Fags who lived his own Novel
Without writing it.

Each day a chapter—
Each night another dinge-love
Juicy denouement.

Like Mapplethorpe said—
Once you’ve gone dinge all the way
There’s no turning back.

I wasn’t strong-willed—
Ambiguity was my
Password thru zeitgeist.

One day at a time—
It was just self-deception
To expect much more.

Kitschy Bijou

Hardly a master—
Other than monstrous drag
And kitschy Bijou…

I believed rather in—
Getting stoned, masturbating
Tasting Tyrone’s cum.

Even that Eden—
Wouldn’t last forever, dears
Always the Serpent.

Drunken & sordid—
I thought of different ways
To keep Tyrone mine.

One fairy tale was—
To have him undergo a
Nice Lobotomy.

The Writer

I suppose it was—
Then I realized Tyrone
Be getting real bored.

A true dilemma—
But after all brotherly
Incestuous love…

Surely it was doomed—
Buck & Billy McCaslin
In “Go Down, Moses.”

Miss Faulkner knew it—
One didn’t have to be a
Lit Crit genius…

To know when boredom—
Hit the proverbial fan
The Seven Year Itch…

The Seven Year Itch

That was about right—
Those seven years had gone by
So very quickly.

Sooner or later—
Tyrone would get married ‘cause
He was a straight kid.

Tyrone simply be—
So hopelessly hetero
That it made me ache.

He started dating—
He got some cute chick pregnant
She hated my guts.

Rather than having—
Her moving in, I asked him
To go live with her.

Withdrawal Symptoms

I couldn’t help it—
I had the heebie-jeebies
Semen addiction…

I pushed the Panic—
Button and stayed drunk all week
Mother got worried.

Got me on a plane—
Flew me down to Aruba
To soak up some sun.

The Latino boyz—
Were so accommodating
Used to bored tourists.

And so I switched—
From Johnny Walker over
To Tequila dayz.

Tropical Paradise

But then I wearied—
Joyless seas of alcohol
Nights of Iguana…

It was like hitting—
An air pocket on a flight
The jolt woke me up.

I’d been in a state—
Of constant motion sickness
Falling down somewhere?

It made me panic—
I can’t describe the feeling
An elevator shaft?

And so bleary-eyed—
I flew back to Dingeville
Older but wiser.

The Dinge Towers

After Mother died—
Butterfly McQueen retired
And faded away.

I spent long weekends—
Walking the Pascagoula beaches
Pondering my fate.

The fading sunsets—
That’s when the lonely summers
Brought me to this place…

Down in the basement—
The dimming art deco glass
Block windows glowing.

I realized that—
A lifetime was very short
Bounded by darkness…

The Delta Night

It ended where it—
Began in the morning light
Now night was coming.

It scared me at first—
It made me afraid being
Smaller than I was.

Crushed by gay desire—
Squeezed and distilled by passion
Like a dinge memoir…

The sweat on my neck—
Grew cold & I got the chills
Tyrone had queered me.

His blood & manhood—
Was running thru my bloodstream
I’d become Tyrone…

The Dinge Writer

I realized then—
Even tho I didn’t quite
Understand it all…

What happened to me—
Was only a pulp fiction
Version of Boyhood.

I had never planned—
To write about my dinge love
With young dark Tyrone.

I had always been—
The Invisible Man who
Was a writer now…

That’s when the doorbell—
Rang & there was Tyrone’s son:
My “Sweet-16” Nephew!!!

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