Saturday, September 24, 2011

Creole Dinge Queen Blues

Creole Dinge Queen Blues

“The world of Faulkner
is so physical, so carnal…
rivers of brown water,
crumbling mansions,
black slaves, idle and
cruel; it is criollo.”
—Jorge Luis Borges,
“Book Reviews & Notes,”
Selected Non-Fictions

creole full of dinge—
inarticulate whiteness
words just can't describe

whiteness full of noir—
closet dinge queens noticed
his naked white negritude

I cruised him back then—
ancient deep south taboo
creole guy’s dark meat

there in louisiana—
long tradition creole culture
french spanish mulattos

one guy I knew—
he sure was black in the
showers for a white guy

dark and moody—
new orleans creole kid
looked like alain delon

in fact I saw it—
“purple noon” (1960)
down in the big easy

I watched the movie—
twice at a vieux carré
shady porno theater

some guyz are so—
movie star goodlooking
they make you hurt

he didn’t get along—
with his roommate so
he moved in with me

he knew I was gay—
the first thing he said
“okay, lock the door.”

and from then on—
both of us were doomed
to flunk out that semester

it was fateful 1963—
kennedy got his brains
blown out & so did I

every night he—
shot the back of my head
off real nice there in bed

the creole kid was hung—
he had a dinge complexion
and a big black dick

I fell in love with him—
it was like it couldn’t wait
it had to happen fast

this was before—
I fell in love with all the
cute cajuns in the bayous

before I fell in love—
with the handsome negro
janitor and his brother…

creole cum is kinda—
like chinese food, it’s so
exquisitely sweet & sour

creole cock is kinda—
like thai takeout cause it
can be so quick & easy

creole guyz be kinda—
water moccasin-snaky
huge uncut pink heads

the same ten inches—
the same taut testicles
the same ten ways

black creole carnality—
the intensity of it almost
too intolerable to stand

it disintegrated me—
eroded me with dinge
love and penis envy

I don’t believe in ghosts—
“or really?” the creole kid
said and then disappeared

like absalom, absalom—
worse than sound and fury
these delta mandingo lovers

the flowing of time—
the wound’s mortal mine
theater of melancholy

it seems excessive now—
nevertheless I’m grateful for
those profane creole pleasures

knowing his goodlooks—
my impure, stupefying ways
of murdering him every night

living inside a novel—
the murders in the rue morgue
strangling his dick to death.

queens consult oracles—
queens play raymond chandler
I was a killer in the dorm

foul crimes against nature—
a guy gets sucked off nightly
the kid’s dick has a big slit

getting him really loaded—
on some strong cuban weed
he spills his fucking brains out

his orgasm truly posthumous—
dictated from the other world
that’s how bad he loses it

later on, he tells me—
people have heavenly doubles
so do cities & countries above

where’s yours, I asked—
“it’s a celestial belgian congo
to go with my big black cock.”

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