Van Gogh’s pure dream
to become the
schizophrenic sunflower
lost in cosmos, listening
to every every star
how they shimmer, how they glimmer
he talks to me
in whirling patterns of code
dancing out to my hand
through my fingers
electrifying the union
with my paintbrush;
we weren’t ill
we could just feel the earth
cry out for some realness
in sloppy perfect colors like a force of nature we answered