Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Black Creole

Composition by Ernest Ignon

Black Creole

Black Creole
Miss Rimbaud
The Bengal
The Past-Time
The Silent One
The Queen
Losing It
Angels Lite

Black Creole

“the shriveled olive
and flute-strokes—
the heavenly candy”
—Arthur Rimbaud
“Sonnet of the Asshole,”
Album Zutique

black creole kid—
descendent of rimbaud
french kiss squirt

vieux carrĂ© verlaine—
hypocritical reluctant
broke sugar daddy

catholic priests—
another bayou scandal
black creole chicken

Miss Rimbaud

“King of the niggers”
(roi de nègres)
—Edmund White,
Rimbaud: The Double
Life of a Rebel

je est un autre—
he’s something else
coupling my lips

rude intercourse—
creamy squirting praline
sticky masculinity

wrinkled budding—
prepuce gently dribbles
all worn out by love


“Seen enough”
—Arthur Rimbaud,
“Departure,” Illuminations

seen enough—
his vision possessed
many haughty airs

had enough—
rainy London and
always his pouting

known enough—
about his sluttish
ardennes asshole

The Bengal

“very sturdy rogues”
—Arthur Rimbaud,
“Side Show,” Illuminations

several have already—
exploited her bedroom
and vague virginity

truly overly ripe—
burlesque horsing-around
cruel struts so endowed

endowed with young—
theatrical buffooneries
except at the very end

The Past-Time

“savage side show”
—Arthur Rimbaud,
“Side Show,” Illuminations

mostly hottentots—
gypsies, simpletons
and bestial harelips

caught up after-game—
romantic dancing and
the usual str8t comedy

clowning around until—
closing time, that’s when
she picks up cute dregs

The Silent One

“the idol, black eyes”
—Arthur Rimbaud,
“Childhood,” Illuminations

he was bored—
she picked him up after
a movie at the varsity

she could feel him—
his juicy sluice gates
oozing outta his shorts

sewers of sapphires—
he was a master of silence
and then she rimmed him

A Queen

“the hour of desire
and gratification”
—Arthur Rimbaud,
“Tale,” Illuminations

a queen was vexed—
having devoted herself
to ordinary perfection

rough trade numbers—
were the only thing left
everything else tawdry

dominatrix endgame—
found her hanging in
the closet with a smile


“an amorous new body”
—Arthur Rimbaud,
“Beauteous Being,”

she got him in bed—
his bedroom eyes and
adorable freshman body

it shuddered and—
started hissing obscenely
rearing up erectly

the snake of love—
shedding its foreskin
its pink amorous head


“an exile here”
—Arthur Rimbaud,
“Lives,” Illuminations

she’s dedicated—
to a new torment
it’s playing with her

the somber air—
and bleak cityscape
very depressing

yet this mood—
feeds her dreadful
skepticism nicely

Losing It

“appalling fanfare”
—Arthur Rimbaud,
“Morning of Drunkenness,”

oh my gawd—
he’s beautiful when
he goes so spastic

the cum in his vein—
such a shock of lewd
lost enchantments

it ends with a—
certain disgusting
lack of elegance

Angels Lite

“angels of flame
and of ice”
—Arthur Rimbaud,
“Morning of Drunkenness,”

a certain loathing—
on the part of slaves
to other indiscretions

some think that—
it’s a sort of uncouth
gauche boorishness

but when he gives—
her the black ice then
devil angels sing…

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