HIPPIE DAYZ, DINGE NIGHTZ

HIPPIE DAYZ, DINGE NIGHTZ

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“Black men create

this love thing: a

fated argosy

prorogued

by words”

—Alden Reimonenq,

“Black Male Cocoons,”

Milking Black Bull

Cant’ Go Back nobody told me— no whitey fag turning back once i fell in love it wasn’t simple— once I went black there was no turning back, man i already knew— or at least felt it that way back in the ‘60’s i fell in love with— curvy muscularity his black bulginess jet-black, slippery— gluing my quentin queer lips to bon’s young maleness Tiger Town Apartment Plenty of egg yolk— After the draft board found out Vaseline blackness There was no excuse— Not to get loaded each day And get him off nice Dumpy apartment— There in back of a bookstore A student ghetto I shrugged off “whitey" Lots of Acapulco gold Into dinge chicken My tongue hanging out— Tiger town long dayz & nights I almost flunked out Campus Dinge Romance what a nice young piece— erection, penis envy uncut impulses every day shameless— black licorice & pink head sliding back foreskin halloween tricking— tricking & treating negro my cute dinge boyfriend he worked as waiter— his mother the cook at the school infirmary i went to classes— still tasting his negritude there in allen hall Gay Mardi Gras once i caught on to— how a mardi gras drag queen crisscrosses the quad how to recognize— my french quarter gay sisters how to betty davis how to torture blanch— upstairs in her wheelchair with rat under glass view carré bitchy— showing off my dinge lover sipping mint juleps pickled pig-feet lips— tainted bougainvillea twisty veiny arms Allen Hall those lovely ‘30s murals— gracing the busy hallways so tres nostalgic time stood still back then— a huey p. long banana republic deep south denouement thirty years later— bullet holes still in the walls the state capitol ancient carib—cotton, sugar cane empire run by the slave trade and there i was now—me naked on the slave block my turn to be slave Miss Faulkner Knows the pecan trees leaned— the magnolia trees moaned the old oaks ached bad all my books mildewed— as i lied dying back then somnambulant lit he tasted bitter— he tasted both sweet & sour he was so moody… he be charles bon— seancing him back in time delta dinge romance yoknapatawpha— pascagoula gulf breezes mississippi muse Self Fellatio my young black lover— 18-year-old hedonist giving himself head my dinge narcissus— in love with himself so vain i made him share it no more wasting it— no more masturbating it no more perversion i wanted it bad— flexing his young black beauty fine mandingo meat he didn’t want to— that made it even better the way he struggled Hoodoo VooDoo Boyfriend long before i read— ishmael reed’s poetry his mumbo jumbo like i had the hots— just looking at his handsome young writer’s photo he be tall, lanky— like “i walked with a zombie” (1943) jacques tourneau’s black stud standing nude, erect— out there in the cane field night there at the crossroad anaconda dick— he made me get down suck it drums in the background James Baldwin a lot of black men— ended up there in paris dinge diaspora queeny james baldwin— butchy chester himes as well richard wright there too paris kinky heads— weren’t bowed in suppression like back in the states new thoughts burnt to words— cotton comes to harlem and gay paris as well dinge writer exiles— why go back to police state? only whitey hell… Mississippi Muse i could feel it deep— down by the levee at night along river road a southern calmness— old black magic taking root down past the cane fields that’s where i parked it— the baby-blue cadillac my mother gave me it was a gas-hog— a garish ’59 monstrosity clunky with sleek fins with these big chrome tits— like jayne mansfield’s limousine her fatal death car Going Down On Moses i knew already— i’d read my mother’s ledger her chicago lover my brother’s father— mulatto alto sax player her nightclub lover her dumb first husband— my deadbeat no-good father divorced her & split incest nothing new— miscegenational cum his name was tyrone so i was ready— for my new dinge loverboy all black ten inches Beauchamp Baccalaureate no black studies then— mid-60s integration on campus back when the viet nam war— rotc mandatory pimping fascismo creative writing— no mfa program yet ginsberg forbidden along with whitman— no room in the straight canon beatnik decadence the delta journal— i fell for the cute black guy editor in chief Snopes Literature william faulkner tho— the yoknapatawpha guide into underground like cocteau’s orphee— heurtebise sleek rolls royce thru liquid mirror down to see miss dis— black leather motorcycle escort down to hell i was a snopes kid— hare-lipped white trash pinhead a tod browning freak up there in memphis— miss reba’s whore house my home alabama red!!! Pulp Fiction Poetry it didn’t take long— storytelling a “fixup”* sanctuary schmaltz faulkner needed bucks— rowan oaks be expensive short stories for sale pastiche & parody— quilting queer notes together later as novels then to dark oaks— son of dracula (1943) lon chaney’s swan song queen zimba the witch— evelyn ankers my fag hag louise allbritton…

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*fixup—“a term used by A. E. Van Vogt to describe a book made up of previously published stories fitted together—usually with the addition of newly written or published material—so that they read as a novel” —John Clute & Peter Nichols The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction