For Van Gogh

His head resembled a tea cup
but the storm brewing
in him
gathered
consumed
and overspilled like sagebrush
fire

the majesty of his rage
against the torment
of his mind
is forever a feast
to receiving eyes

maybe he fell through
the crack
in heaven's lid
that it claimed him
back to decorate
its wall

but before falling to his
predicament
he captured it
in his Irises

distempered flowers
like failed fetus
an angry reminder
of possible life
impossible fate