I.<\/p>\n
The unbearable whiteness of being II.<\/p>\n She waltzed in liebfraumilch smile<\/a> bosom high \u2014 III.<\/p>\n The unbearableness of being white
white weighs on me tortures me day and night \u2014
a self-loathing fat fuck Orpheus light,
the ex I stiffed pillar of salt fleeing
to Sister Ophelia\u2019s nunnery
seeking sinless blank canvassed nothingness,
while I\u2019m on the lam from wolves. I confess
a fond white need for constant punnery,
and when the poltergeists arrive to chew
me out of my mind, like dead Eliot
madmen geraniums shaking my view,
I\u2019m Hamlet the white king and<\/em> his zealot.
I cry to see what the mourning will bring,
self-lynching; it\u2019s an existential thing.<\/p>\n
she sang Prost! I heard Proust and then she pressed
her spiggage against my face I undressed
her in my mind, my tongue climbing her thigh,
and thought fondly of our purity laws,
blau augen<\/a> blond haar oompah<\/a> in mein Herz,
arse white as the driven snow<\/a>, to be terse,
Himmel high, until she removed my paws.
Turns out she was working undercover
and the cops had need of her baddabooms:
she was looking for zwei Dummkopfen toons
to ausnehmen, not some tuba lover.
But when no Peter Lorre<\/a> showed that night,
I snaked her garden of earthly delight<\/a>.<\/p>\n
in a black world all the hype too much bleach
too many cycles no soul gonads tight
the meaning of the Coltrane honk and screech
eludes me no color tabla rasa
crystalline snow hung out to dry \u2014 in spite
white picket fence smiles guard blanco casa
sleep sheeple downhill skiing white on white.
The burden of being white means being right,
hero of the master-slave narrative,
the one you look to for knowing insight
and old ideas needing a palliative.
I\u2019d not stop being white for anything
or anyone or any cause: I\u2019m king.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n