Vincent is framed by Paul, his luminous blue
glows from the wall of a millionaire’s dying dream
shaped like a Roman villa from Herculaneum
perched on the cliffs above Malibu.
Madness extols itself in perfect form –
there is no vision more extreme, complete
than these last lingering flowers of summer’s heat
becoming and dying, at the same time.
The alchemy of paint’s beyond analysis –
Van Gogh, insane, with buzzing in his ear,
places a daub of white just here, and here
there is a point of pain that must persist.
The canvas, not seen by Paul nor sold by Vincent,
hangs on the wall, elusive, strange, magnificent.
For more information about Lake Chapala visit: www.chapala.com
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