Friday, September 4, 2015

7120. VINCENT VAN GOGH IS PEELING

VINCENT VAN GOGH 
IS PEELING
In every stern divestiture of color and line
the language spoken is visionary and divine.
The broadening hands of a rubberized god make
things of a Nature sublime. Vincent. Vincent.
Shadows fall across the lake, where a number
of majestic birds are deciding their tracks : I can
hear their quaint ellipses - 'shall we squander
time, shall we fly once more, take to the sky,
again, this time?' Vincent, Vincent. Some
lily-white girl is approaching; I see she trails
a yellow shadow, but of light, and bright, not
a darkness at all. The blue sky, above her,
fissures its particles of twirling light - I see
she is there and not there alike. So, Vincent,
Vincent, just me  -  traveling through the likes
of time, with nowhere really to go at all.
Vincent, Vincent, do you hear my call?

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