Friday, September 30, 2011

An Odor of Verbena

An Odor of Verbena

"Behind the smokehouse

that summer, Ringo and I

were smoking a joint."

William Faulkner, The


miss mosely laprick—
such a lovely creole doll
he’s so beautiful.

levitates her way—
if pussy could only talk
makes all the men gawk.

mobster’s creole moll—
(bullshit walks but money talks)
she be dick-crazy.

katrina blows in—
but nothing to compare with
miss mosley’s blowjobs.

from natchitoches down—
along the cane river those
sullen creole boyz.

(but not as blue as
miss mosely laprick
when he sings in drag.)

“she be mosely bad”—
madame lapuke said to me
on the verandah.

i snorted some coke—
an odor of verbena
oozed thru me slowly.

it was no surprise—
no glib gay presentiment
about miss mosely.

down outta the swamp—
the evening uncloaking
my gay aberrations.

“thank you, sir,” she said—
after a line of cocaine
“i needed somewhat.”

then off her mouth went—
miss lapuke knew all the dirt
unfit to be known.

storytelling then—
back in the bayous was still
a treasured artform.

going to college—
hadn’t taught me anything
compared to her spiel.

“oh unhappy land—
young overdue equinox,
we belabored queens.”

“we must pay the price—
for cain’s incestuous love,
chandeliers tremble…”

i could hear ringo—
moody back in the woodpile
behind the smokehouse.

his passions recalcitrant
outweighed everything.

boyz, river, terrain—
the gay topography lived
... outlived all of us.

ringo so sullen—
possessing a sulkiness
the whole summer long.

the hopeless ordeal—
prolonged much too long, my dear
should i console him?

so damp and humid—
knowing misunderstandings
engendering us.

those patterns of betrayal
between us and him.

we both loved mosely—
he was our male femme fatale
she’d rejected us.

so ringo and i pouted—
with cain’s tainted love for
young abel in drag.

young mosely laprick—
mostly did rich big daddies
there in the big easy.

her sugar daddy—
paid all the expenses there
vieux carre her home.

swanky art deco—
tres chic french quarter condo
mosely be so spoiled.

both ringo and me—
dumped by the little no-good
tramp with big lips.

miss mosely tres bad—
big time into breaking hearts
what’s a guy to do?

“it don’t matter, child,”—
madame lapuke said, consoling
me late in the night.

“he be a creole boy”—
“he’s got albino goodlooks
and a white boyz smile.”

“but he’s criollo—
he’s devil in a blue dress
he’ll drag you down, dear.”

“let rich big daddies—
those creole mobsters keep him
their jailbait kept boy.”

“he’s too expensive—
for trailer trash boyz like you
he’s mandingo now.”

miss mosely laprick—
she does cabaret in drag
mardi gras swan songs.

she sings “voodoo love”—
for all the young sailorboyz
she be blue angel.

creole diva dinge—
craving hot young snopes boyz too
they gather like flies.

like green mold on cheese—
her pussy flypaper lips
carnal canal cunt.

my delta demise—
a kid named mosely laprick
i still want him bad.

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