Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Wilde Boyz

Wilde Boyz

“Breton faults
Rimbaud for being
insufficiently comic”
—Edmund White
Arthur Rimbaud:
The Double Life of a Rebel


Wilde Boyz
To Madame X
Miss Nabokov
O La Femme!
Capellos de Angelos
(Spanish delicacy)
Vẻnus Anadyomẻme

Wilde Boyz
—for Charles Morice

boyz above everything—
the imbalanced few preferred
vaguer than older queens

nothing weighty, heavy—
don’t go mincing your words
hot guyz are the main thing

some confusion of vision—
is permitted, shadowy dates
where precision weds indecision

it’s those beautiful eyes—
concealed by masters degrees
cute MFA’s in quivering moonlight

we always desire nuance—
not brains, Nuance evermore!
only nuance alone can do!

we flee from murderous—
epigrams, cruel wit and satire
we prefer IQ to high azure

and all that gay posing!—
take eloquence, wring its neck!
you’d do quite well, if you’re cute!

boyz once more & forever—
let your line be a thing so light
soaring in flight to fresh lovers

let your line be your finest—
adventure until tense dawn dies
all the rest — is literature

(Jadis et Naguère: Art Poétique)

—for Georges Courteline

i am the empire—
at the end of decadent days
making pale tall barbarians cum

while composing poetry—
in my homosexual indolence
it’s gilded style which I portray

the setting sun’s languor—
aches with a vague ennui that
once saw bloody battles fought

but lacking power now—
the empire is so feeble that
this tardy prayer means nothing

why embellish reality—
when one lacks the will & power
to even proudly die a little!

it’s all so laughably foolish—
everything is decaying anyway
these decadent times who cares?

(Jadis Et Naguère: Langueur)

—for Arthur Rimbaud

give me your foreskin—
let me peal it back, hold
your breath, let me blow you

let your great tree—
die swaying in the breeze
beneath grey branches, come

let soft, tender rays—
of the moon caress you
closing your eyes

not thinking, dreaming—
let love have its moment
let happiness expire

let’s forget to hope—
discreet, content, each
of us calm as quiet death

we’ll rest, silent, peaceful—
this sleep our lovely nocturne
despite nature and my wife

(Jadis Et Naguère: Circonspection)

To Madame X…
—for Paul Verlaine

(On sending me a pube)

when you loved me—
were you sure sending me
a sweet and dear little pube?

a lovely emblem
its message so pure
love homoerotique!

declaring your heart—
was mine for evermore
after that first blowjob…

the years have passed—
just look at us now
a couple of old wrecks

yet i still keep it though—
to remind me of that gay
seminal glory hole tryst!

was it really yours?—
i’ve had so many pubes
between my teeth since then

alas! memory is often lost—
to the four winds went it comes
to that flowery tearoom art

and this humble pube?—
i wonder seriously if it still
remembers that hot night?

(Fleur-des-veuves, Scabiosa atropurpurea)

Miss Nabokov
—for Vladimir Nabokov

nabokov conquered—
all the girls including lolita’s
amusing hula-hoop lusts

his perverse inclination—
for a virgin girl’s lovely flesh
tempted so by their little tits

he was conquered by lolita—
her subtle heart, her cool arms
her provoking boyish breasts

turning his back on—
the weighty trophies of those
young male charms sergey prefers

vladimir the Montreaux palace—
rich quintessential monarch of
sacred holy pierced pussy

O La Femme!
—for Mathilde Verlaine

o my wife mathilde!—
prudent pussy, calm twat
my hateful enemy wife

showing no pity for me—
no half measures in your victory
killing the wounded without mercy

plundering the spoils—
extending flame and steel
even to distant young arthur

oh fickle wife always—
so good and gentle, often too
gentle like sleeping snake

you lull in your leisure—
you used to intrigue me but
now all you do is put me to sleep

sometimes that sleep—
can be like delicious death that
my soul desperately yearns for

but you never give up—
you insistent bourgeois bitch
you insult my manhood with remorse

here i am man of the house—
but i can’t even cavort with my
youthful parnassian poet friends

this is my last farewell—
you’ve queered me like a yew
tree since my fall from eden

(Amour: Lucien Létinois III)

Capellos de Angelos
(Spanish delicacy)

an ugly youth—
wildly blonde with venus’ flair
for debauching a whole army

but he’s mine nevertheless—
that mane of his dark curls
turns me on from head to toe

he’s more pleasing to me—
than the pure golden fleece
his pubes like wiry fire

it’s simply hopeless—
i’m his humble slave and
he’s my remorseless master

her rare sweet body—
so smooth, so rosy white like
his creamy pure jizz-jet

sweet thighs, taut tits—
nipples, flat belly a feast
for my ogling perverted eyes

my darling boy—
enough of this enchanting
schmooze, let’s go to bed!

(Parallèlement: Filles I, À la Princesse Roukhine)

—for Paul Verlaine

i listen to the sounds—
you make when we’re in
bed making love

what came before—
comes & comes again
yet i cry & cry for more!

the infernal river—
of love flows on & on
now is our forever!

what terrifying dreams—
even to think for a minute
forever could be never!

you die so very softly—
in our bedroom’s darkness
without witnesses to know

there’s no redemption—
once more is now again
but how many times left?

(Parallèlement: Réversibilités)

Sleeping Beauty Dreams…
—for Lucien Létinois

sleeping beauty dreams—
my cinderella boy dozes
he’s my blue-beard wife

he waits for his brothers—
he’s my hop-o’-my-thumb
and i’m his big old fat ogre

glides through our bedroom
caresses his hedgerow pubes

dense and low, creaming—
the milking, the sowing, the
hay-making and all the rest

the wheat in the fields—
his husbandry and his taste
silken skin in straw-gilded dark

the ardennes simply flowers—
giving birth to boys like rimbaud
they come & come, then they go

donkey-boy returns—
from the neighbouring estate
the soup cooks and stirs itself

(Amour: Lucien Létinois XI)

Vẻnus Anadyomẻme

rimbaud’s head—
heavily pomaded
a green zinc coffin

emerges slowly—
and stupidly from
his old bathtub

with bald patches—
rather badly hidden
his spine a bit red

he has a smell—
strangely horrible
do you notice it?

his fat gray neck—
broad shoulder-blades
sticking out grotesquely

his back curves—
the roundness of his
butt sagging, receding

his ass appears thin—
two tattooed words:

his whole body moves—
hideously beautiful with
an ulcer on his anus

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