Painted Escape

After Van Gogh’s “Starry Starry Night”

He navigates the dark, inebriated city. Damp, dirty blonde strands stick on his forehead as sleepless clay hands prove their mechanical inefficiency. His teeth clatter beyond all control, an engine hacked, wrecked and broken. His anxiousness expects shadows from behind his ears. He finds none but one that stalks him like a coward of a man that he was.

A man, is he not?

His tongue trails along his lower lip. The lingering concoction of salty lust and bitter love have an offspring of regret. Is that what all of his soul aches for? A tub of warm water, spilled oil, a palm filled with silver coins, sex with the pope, three-fourths of a loaf, a thumb of butter, spilled ink, various intrusions, Vincent Van Gogh, safety is relative, blue and black strokes of escape. Immortal gas lamps from light years away hear his urge to pray, but his wretchedness eternal.