the genius
this man sometimes forgets who
he is.
sometimes he thinks he’s the
Pope.
other times he thinks he’s a
hunted rabbit
and hides under the
bed.
then
all at once
he’ll recapture total
clarity
and begin creating
works of
art.
then he’ll be all right
for some
time.
then, say,
he’ll be sitting with his
wife
and 3 or 4 other
people
discussing various
matters
he will be charming,
incisive,
original.
then he’ll do
something
strange.
like once
he stood up
unzipped
and began
pissing
on the
rug.
another time
he ate a paper
napkin.
and there was
the time
he got into his
car
and drove it
backwards
all the way to
the
grocery store
and back
again
backwards
the other motorists
screaming at
him
but he
made it
there and
back
without
incident
and without
being
stopped
by a patrol
car.
but he’s best
as the
Pope
and his
Latin
is very
good.
his works of
art
aren’t that
exceptional
but they allow him
to
survive
and to live with
series of
19-year-old
wives
who
cut his hair
his toenails
bib
tuck and
feed
him.
he wears everybody
out
but
himself.
Altre opere di Charles Bukowski...
