Possess, as I possessed that demon, bits
of flesh needing love. In letters I sound
like an arse, I know, writing about clits,
cocks and cunts, and (what did McKay say?) drowned
Harlem girls on drowned Harlem streets. More, please.
Jaeniesh called me infernal. I still grin.
What does a demon know about Hades
but that it’s home? I met her and moved in.
She screamed storms and then flooded with my cock
in her arse. “My mind bursts each time I cum.”
You did not want that but she did. “Please, more,”
Jaeniesh hissed. Other called this smut and schlock,
but they’ve never been possessed with Harlem
of souls, with bliss, with libertine rancor.
Claude McKay (1889-1948) was one of the key figures in the Harlem Renaissance of the 1930s. He wrote, “Adventure-seasoned and storm-buffeted,/ I shun all signs of anchorage, because/ The zest of life exceeds the bound of laws.”