Van Gogh

I wish Van Gogh were alive today, I think I’d walk up to him and simply say, I heard you cut your ear off, Did it hurt, Did it bleed, And was there much blood and did it smear? Was it just a woman that you felt that you’d need. Really Vincent, that created great trepidation and fear. You scared everyone, What were you thinking? But I know you were sad, And that it was your heart that was sinking. But if you and I were friends today, We could sit in a meadow, Painting all the long day. We could paint Stary stary Nights, In the middle of the day And sing a happy song, And paint our way.

You could teach me of art, and I could tell about democracy. I heard you didn’t sell any paintings, When you were alive, is that true? Neither have I, I’m just like you in that regard, quite blue.

We could lay our depression out on the roof, Let it lie in the midday sun, Till it shriveled up like a prune, Then we’d gobble it up - a disdainful fruit, Be done with it I say! And we’d paint pictures all the long day. We could be aloof and wallow in our interpretations, And give people great inspirations. Which is exactly what you do, Dear Vincent. Alas, I simply wish that I could too. You’re a success dear Vincent, your painting are grand, You’re the finest painter in all the land. I love you dear Vincent in a friendship kind of way, But if you were alive and well, I’d simply have to say, In all candor, dear Vincent, and with the kindest regard, The ear thing was just . . . too . . . darn . . . hard. If only Van Gogh were alive today. (Hard. Do ya get it, hard to deal with, hard to comprehend, hard to look at. He must have been lopsided after that. . . Maybe he wore a hat. Well, I suppose I’ve revealed too much about myself . . . Never mind.), he said parenthetically.

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