Vincent
Alexandra Isacson
Like a wave of absinthe
van Gogh spills out on canvas.
A minister,
who keeps pregnant Sorrow,
painted lady, who disappears
back into the streets.
Weeps when Gauguin leaves
gives a relic of himself
to some nameless whore.
Turbaned with bandage
he is the Man with a Pipe.
In the Saint Remy mental asylum
paints Irises, auctioned off
Sothebys New York
Fifty-three million dollars
hangs in the Getty Museum.
Now, one of the richest dead men
a saint who took vows of poverty
and wrote:
Painting and fucking are not
compatible; it weakens the brain.
Which is a bloody nuisance.
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