Composition by Ernest Ignon
Black Creole
_______________
Black Creole
Miss Rimbaud
Enough
The Bengal
The Past-Time
The Silent One
The Queen
Rebirth
Exile
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
Enough
“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
Rebirth
“an amorous new body”
—Arthur Rimbaud,
“Beauteous Being,”
Illuminations
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
Exile
“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,”
Illuminations
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,”
Illuminations
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…
_______________
Black Creole
Miss Rimbaud
Enough
The Bengal
The Past-Time
The Silent One
The Queen
Rebirth
Exile
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
Enough
“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
Rebirth
“an amorous new body”
—Arthur Rimbaud,
“Beauteous Being,”
Illuminations
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
Exile
“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,”
Illuminations
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,”
Illuminations
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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