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