after Vincent van Gogh
God sank a mineshaft into me for a reason
I could not see in the coal-mining district.
Coal dust ate the potatoes and beer.
When a man slammed into a woman, the dust
rose in their heads and formed a cloud.
I carried away what was mine, and burned
black into blue, red into rose, yellow to gold.
I burn the stars and each becomes a galaxy.
I burn the fuse of flesh and my face bursts
into a wheel of fireworks, a vase of sunflowers.