Monday, November 22, 2010

I have the Van Gogh blues
in swirling colors
in my mind
there is no one
where each stroke
and the next begins
the painting
tells a continuous story

and other artists
and writers
visit too
there will be ladies
on the lawn
having tea
there will be women
with umbrella’s
holding a child’s hand
there will be figures
with haunting
mysterious stares

I will not eat the paint
but I will sit
on the bench
in the museum
during my sleeping hours
and just gaze
the pictures
make no sense
they do not speak
they only feel

I live
in a yellow house


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