KHUM, which I listen to at work, is playing a bunch of songs about Van Gogh. Here's a quick little stanza that might go somewhere.
Van Gogh cut off his ear,
not his hand. He didn’t need it to hear
what he heard: the sussuration through
sunflowers, the thud of stale bread
on cracked wood, the faint but very real
whoosh of a spiral of stars.
1 comment:
I just scanned a bunch of these and may I say you are blowing it up! My goodness!
I don't know what to do about that "post a poem on your blog and you'll never get it published" thing, either. Right now I'm just giving it all away, like Jesus and Linux, though not as useful.
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