He tried, got to see her outstretched arms

evaporate, what we see when morning light

obliterates the stars.

Sunsets bathed in gold

like a cathedral’s walls; Galileo worshipped every day

the Sun of God and in night,

the Moon, his seraphim. Did you know

Galileo stared at the sun so much he went blind?

People called him crazy too,

But insanity and inspiration hold hands. I heard that

Van Gogh believed if he drank yellow paint

It would cure his depression.

My therapist says its not healthy to bottle up my emotions,

But I’m just trying to craft my moods into my

own tube of paint, bottle up my own shade-- my own flavor--

of remission, replacing my meals with chemicals

like they are Special K skinny shakes

Or prescription pills.

I think my paint would glow, like the stars I put on my ceiling as a kid and

Never took down.

Maybe I’ll repaint my walls that color

Or splash celestial bodies across the egg-shell bathroom walls

Like the milky way,

Turn the lights off and sit in the lucent tub: my birthplace. Did you know

our bodies are made of the dust of dead stars? I wonder

which star made you.

You look at me like my words don’t make sense,

And your eyes are an eclipse. I wonder

if I could fit planets in your pupils

and wander there, in the infinite space

between your ears,

ride the rings around your thoughts

and hitchhike on the back of a comet

to the memory of meeting me.

They take my madness out of context,

Said I have lost myself but did you know

Van Gogh painted “Starry Night” while in an asylum?

Poster child for the starving artist, he only sold one painting

While alive. Name your price,

A penny for my thoughts may be too high.

And I’m not trying to be a tortured artist because

Artists are the first to lose their minds.

But maybe if they would only

look through the damn telescope

They might.