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Tableaux (on Van Gogh)

Listening to a scarlet sink, detached
an ear, still glistening wax,
in bloody conch.
The gaping flesh.
Wild scattered eyes
fiercing the mirror.
Light ricochets from trembling blade
(it's gaslight evening and the breeze ...)
Behind his stooping shoulders,
a painted room ablaze
the dripping composition of his blood.
The winding crowd
inflates the curtains inwards,
sails of a flying Dutchman.