THE SITTER For Vincent Blue and golden, red and brown your flesh color shines through. Translucent like those piercing eyes that look from you. Vincent this is for you, my painted words. I hope this shows you in a light That you are used to, Van Gogh Van Goff how we pronounce is Nothing to do with you, the light Encircles your eyes like Pools of water you seen through A spyrol of existence, shining you. I want to paint your picture but In words. I hope I can do you justice Like the pleasure you gave to me. Tone and tone on shadow like you Used to portray, this is not a canvas Just a clean white space filled with Strokes from a brush stroked blue. I have no memory of my own so You will have to do, dead I hope You don’t mind being the sitter.
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PLACEBO EFFECT I believe that Patrick Kavanagh and Raymond Carver gave me a poetic energy. In nineteen seventy-four my father was released from nine months detainment in Crumlin road jail and the maze prison. The longest detainee in Ireland, he went on the run and we lived in a little cottage with no electricity or running water seven miles from Dundalk, Hackballscross, just a mile from Kavanagh country, Mucker. He truly was my mucker, I ran in the fields he walked in with my trusted Companion Muttley the dog, we, he chased cattle like he used to chase British soldiers. With only one eye and three legs, beaten by the butts of British army rifles. It was the first time in my life that I felt that all the world was not at war, before that day I felt this war was a part of me and I a part of it. Now we have peace and all those gun running days are over. Years later a friend lent me a book by Raymond Carver and it blew my mind and stirred m...
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