““Remember the year I stopped eating apples? Remember the summer I kept bringing home abandoned chairs? A lucid Vincent wrote to his brother: I have tried to express the terrible passions of humanity by means of red and green. His self-portrait now hangs in the Fogg. Remember the summer I had to walk to the Lake just to feel anything at all? When I descend late in the afternoon there’s a blue plate of heart- shaped cookies, there’s an orange on the kitchen counter. I notice a crack in the seam of the ceiling, a spider vein on the inside of my knee. What a still still life! The rest of the day is a slanted floorboard. The rest of the day is the color of absinthe. Note the personal and detached attitude. Note the application of arbitrary color. The tilted perspective. This poem is all surface. You may stand where you choose. This poem has no vanishing point.””
