For They Could Not Love You
For They Could Not Love You,
You escaped their limitations.
You broke the very chains
That kept them bound
To convention,
To normality,
To mediocrity.
You committed high crimes and misdemeanors
That bordered on
Treason,
Following your mind's eye.
You died not for your art,
An unoriginals act at best,
But by the very hand that
Created.
And on that starry night
Few but crocodile tears did fall.
But on this
Starry night, of Starry Night,
Late into July,
I spill turpentine, and tears.
And they drop on
My canvas
Like blood--
Tags: This Morning Was Productive
