What mares did you see, your mind all at sea, the girl with van gogh eyes?
What smiles you give, what lives do you live, with no lies to give - the girl with Van Gogh eyes?
The mud in your toes, the potions you brew, the singing of her voice, the girl with Van Gogh eyes
Your dark pool windows cast bright light and dark shadows, oh how they spark me, the girl with Van Gogh eyes.
Dark voids I  fall into, portal or eternal loss, girl with Van Gogh eyes
Your pale moon skin, troubadour clothes, firm curved within, girl with Van Gogh eyes
cartwheels in the grass, you fiddle away in a beautiful way,  girl with Van Gogh eyes
Starry nights twirl, earth flower I unfurl in avarice and in care, girl with Van Gogh eyes
Your butterfly child helped temper my sin, the girl with Van Gogh eyes
It lies within, curves womanly my chagrin, oh girl with van Gogh eyes

Van Gogh wanted to mix a material rainbow of colors
From primary red, yellow and blue in the sense of divine.
In the Holy Light, the love time of the flower clock discolors.
The empty glasses on the tables lack the Holy wine.

The ideal round tables assume their infinite regress,
While huddling down in a stupor the lonely men around.
Their eyes do not see the sense of life and true noblesse.
From a corner view, silent colors search for the sound.

Tables for awakening, for life and for the fate's game.
In life, a complete circled awareness needs time.
In many forms, the epitome of tableness is the same.
It keeps a purple silence for the painted mother of thyme.


This irreconcilable demon -woman hung on the left wall
Needs that freedom engraved on the emerald green door.
The watch on her hand shows the time for a masked ball.
Destined never to meet are the parallel lines on the floor.

Love is for completing the time as pink is for the emerald green.
In the mirror, this nuance of green reflects the sadness of life.
Against the red, pink and white, in games, the cue tip can lean,
Because all the main complementary colors are at strife.

The white coat of the waiter is a symbol in the glow of the lamp.
The perspective looks somewhat downward toward the floor.
Extending to new dimensions, Eve sits or she just up to vamp.
The flowers wither and the life disappears after an endless war.

And maybe we're all unknown little Van Goghs
Self mutilating our hearts
In the name of love.


--Watercolour

She painted him a sky without seams
In the viscous darkness of disruptions
Slowed slurred by lullabies of suffering
She gave away to glorified night sanctified
Whilst the warmth of juxtaposition clings
Morning yawns in contiguity of his arms
Brutal destructive hurricane claimed her crown
He'd be the healer of pain crawling broken and shame
Trapped she struggled with some consecrate demons
Lifted up the smoke paradox from his mouldering mind
Written in the scriptures she is rain nestled in the clouds
Exculpated the gray prisoner he never took the blame