dclxvi. CAPTAIN BEEFHEART (Don Van Vliet) (1941-2010)
from Ice Cream for Crow
His 12th and final album; he quit the music business to devote himself to painting. From his biographer, Mike Barnes:
"This album feels like an hors-d'oeuvre for a main course that never came."
**
Hey Garland, I dig your tweed coat
I'll trade you a domino this size, mothball-scented
The woman silk nude tie painting his chest
One celluloid stay exposed through his nibbled collar
Feet speckled the sidewalk
Faces gurgled through windows
Passing cars gum rubber streaks
Neon plant swim like green seaweed to a deep rhythm of blues
Red thyroid sunsets, flame in speckled chemistry
Pipes run off dark tubes
Erase into marks that pour the dye of darkness
Crystal comes together as silent as ink
"I don't think I could let it go. I got it at the religious scene."
Teeth let go, tobacco juice, an oiled balloon, brown eye in an egg white, black tar bubbles and stripes
A straw hat squeaked on the brim of a feather
Newsprint thumbed through nicotine fingers, a dark olive was turned on
Its small pulp speaker burst into a scream
One large tomato was inmediately peeled skin red
It bled into a red "O" and smacked behind accepted fangs
Quick eyebrows danced cutely above a mole
The bridge held a large gold pair of spectacles
The front was smooth
It gradually gathered and wrinkled at the holes
A dark wooden moustache deposited below above Chinese red varnished lips that dented slightly into the evening.
"It's gotten quite cold. I've decided I can't sell you my coat."
Honking, the wind puffed into the clumps above the lattice rows
And out looked Panatella, naked and not ashamed, without no clothes
Wiggle Pig went snout-first into a tree
The rubber turkey was gobbled up by the night's dark rubber mouth
'N a white phosphorous raindrop dropped in the sky
Hot silhouettes in a convertible gave this applause.
And several white porcelain trays were rolled in by bumblebees
Their wings arranged with pictures out of the past
And the rainbow baboon gobbled fifteen fish eyes with each spoon
Pockets was caught at window level
Approaching the fractured glass, dripping in light, he spoke:
"I've just looked at myself, and from here to there it ain't far enough, but from here to here it's too short"
"And circles don't fly, they float," Pena exclaimed and went on to say:
"Sun sure did shine this year. Who'd you look like underneath?"
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