I was looking through a hole in Van Gogh’s head.
The hole I was peering through is a painting some call Café Terrace.
It could be called Fire and Ice. Wonderful would be another apt name for it.
This piece of Vincent is a night sky hung with stellar lanterns
near as.lightposts, as if the cosmos was just another canopy
slightly beyond the one shielding the cafe. Just a stone’s throw beyond.
Within spitting distance. Half a hair’s breadth away.
Stars big as moons hang in this room in Vincent’s skull.
Stars ready as wet Cortlands to be plucked from trees in orchards
of exploding hydrogen.
Under the cafe canopy nano-figures repose upon cobbles of burning coals.
Sipping wine maybe; savoring oysters; sucking energy from supernovas.
Near and Far opposed as lovers in Vincent’s embracing mind.
There and Here tangled beyond belief.
by Jim Culleny,