Dennis Hopper,
some years ago,
glazed his beard
and so did I this morning:
I slipped my face
between the sharp-as-knifes legs
of an open-minded woman
and I arose feeling closer to Art.
Like this, I’ve made waste of every woman,
like the poet of the one-night-longing songs.
And I’ve tried to turn every wound into word
in the most obsessive way.
Are my verses now much more convincing?
Do they look completely insane?
That’s it: that air of mentally-tortured genius
is what I’m trying to get.
So I’m trying not to stay sober
or, at least, to keep my eyes like in flames.
I spend afternoons ‘round the alley
giving the air of being strayed.
I’m closing the doors to my former rooms.
One by one.
With forced disdain, with blank nights,
with unnatural days.
I’m driving away.
I’m carelessly driving away
like Pound or like Cave,
like every fucking man who really got
a piece of dark fame.
I’m driving away.
I’m driving away
because past’s so uninspiring
for it’s so real and plain.
When mixing memory and desire
things get out of way.
I feel a bit like Francis Bacon
after having bought two halves of a cow:
dragging them home
all through the amazed market.
credits
from Destruction,
released June 22, 2016
Music and lyrics by Buck Mulligan
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