WHEAT FIELD WITH CROWS

let's end with this painting
once again: brother van Gogh trying
to blast his head off - unraveling to free
the burden -

let's watch him break
into the blue
sky with a murder of crows -

let's watch him climb
into the sky as thick as clay -
weeping - hands
merging with his face -
his body in a fetal position
in the golden light
above the wheat field -

let's remember he died poor
and lonely in this world -

smelling and tasting the colors
we could only imagine

DOG LOVE

if I were a dog
and you left me
alone in the house

I'd follow
your scent, a trail
of human smoke,
until I found the heavy ghost
of your sleep

I'd circle in the circle
of your odors:

the smell of sweat
from between your toes,
from the backs of your knees
and from under your breasts
and armpits -
the damp fields and smoldering

canyons of your body -
the languid gorges and valleys -
the bogs of breath on your pillow

I'd take your underwear
in my mouth
and wrestle it into the sheets
then stir myself in,
the ghost of my sleep
merging with yours -

your smell more brilliant
than a tree
burning with cats

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