I have the Van Gogh blues
whirling
in swirling colors
in my mind
there is no one
place
where each stroke
ends
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

sometimes
I live
in a yellow house

~Jenny