Crows over a Cornfield
Van Goghs cornfield
are searching
for the man
who painted them
that way,
like charred words
in a mad inscription.
They know hes
down there somewhere,
lying to this day
in a starchy pool
of yellow blood,
behind an easel
of coffin wood,
untamed
by the rhetoric
of food
as the relentless
tide of stalks
comes roaring in.
Like a curse
upon the wind,
the crows are pinned
to a newborn
realm of sky
no god
can rightly claim.
But is Van Gogh
to blame,
or did he
somehow win?
The crows
will never know,
for the crows
will never land.
June 23, 2005
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Also by William Michaelian
POETRY
Winter Poems
ISBN: 978-0-9796599-0-4
52 pages. Paper.
Another Song I Know
ISBN: 978-0-9796599-1-1
80 pages. Paper.
Cosmopsis Books
San Francisco
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