Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Poem: pastpresen t





It was murder

Vincent cut his ear off

Gauguin with the sword

it was suicide

fled to

the Arles policeman

not in the portrait

withablackfurcap

boundear

strangers

thebeauties of Tah i t i

the young with rocks

suicide

worldofcolor

and time


darkpossessedbyswirling

in the sword

bloody ear

Auvers

brighteningbed

nogun


the policemen said

walkedstony


suicide

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