Van Gogh saw crows
in the shape of letters
that spelled his last vision
as a sea of grass
peppered with crows
who left him when he looked.

No crows pose
for diseased men
with broken eyes.

No crows look back
at the bursting canvas
abandoned in the field.

The artist dies with revisions
lost in his brush
whose hairs curl and weather
as the crow flies_

My father is a poet
For he spent his life walking
to where he was going
for the foreign idea
of his future children.
Rarely have I seen anything
so well composed.

My father does not want me to write
For he sees I do not have
feet like his.
And in my laziness
I blame my birth in honey
for stealing from me
what made my father move.

Nobody "likes" an underdog
like they like things like
mayonnaise or advertisements-
People crave justice,
They feel like it's the way
the story should go;
It's the way
They'd make it go
if they had a say...

All the world's stories of heroes and villains,
Caging pain and giant Boots in
the sky:
Are they untold?
Unheard? Ignored?
Maybe we all listened and decided,
calmly,
that justice subdued
was not worth the trouble
of our own revision