for Vincent van Gogh He held his severed ear in his hand. Divorced now from sound, it looked lonely. It hardly weighed more than a whisper, a lone word of pain cradled in the palm of his paint-flecked hand. […]
prose poems
for Vincent van Gogh He held his severed ear in his hand. Divorced now from sound, it looked lonely. It hardly weighed more than a whisper, a lone word of pain cradled in the palm of his paint-flecked hand. […]