In Amsterdam a few years ago I stood below 12 sunflowers. Standing still I stared at the bright strokes, bold With something but I. Could not understand I. Did not see a plan, and I. Felt small, my heart in my hand alone below bright beaming sunflowers Some sort of morse code.
Through the frame I look at sunflowers still stale. For a moment I was nauseous and the world spun round Like a horror story the painting asks for a gift. I could not provide, salty eyes and lips I could not give, a heavy handed thought. So I turned on my heel and left.