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Always the blade hovered over his head,
ominous and foreboding,
a shadow that changed the shape of things.
He saw apparitions in the corners of his mind.
In his sleep, he saw the faces of the dead.
There is money in nightmares and pornography
but not in poetry.
The oldest woman in the world said
she once met Vincent van Gogh
and that he was disagreeable and drunk.
But why talk of that?
His work will not be forgotten.
We walk in a room and there he is, looking back
at us, more like a ghost than a man.
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