In a Wheatfield in Auvers-sur-Oise.

It’s like yellow paint,
Vincent says,
Thick and messy.
Expecting to come out clean
Is a notion better left for fools.
One’s more likely to cut off a lobe
To spite another’s face
Than to come out clean.
Like paint-
Untidy & broad,
Simple & clean,
A Starry Night-
A Sunflower-
Ugly,
Beautiful,
Simultaneously.
There’s a beginning,
Middle,
End to each stroke
And no picture has just one.
Remember that,
he says
While chest and revolver intimately embrace.
Remember that…
When what was imagined for canvas
Isn’t what is in front of you.