O van Gogh
you shall know
that through your death
the graces you left
in my Liberty
I choose to see
Passion's pain penetrating
the iris of the asylum
Desire's devotion dissenting
from the sunflower of Paris
Rapture's rage reverberating
in the wheatfield of the revolver

O van Gogh
you shall know
that through your death
the graces you left
in my Liberty
I choose alchemy
under dark starry nights
in the canvass of my dreams
your radiance strokes
my body nude redeems