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The Crows

by pepe nero


I was one of many crows
Van Gogh was
in the wheat field down below

his easel and paint box
were not with him today

just he, alone,
in a newly mowed part of the field
slowly turning in a circle

unknown to us
he was looking at his beloved world
one last time

his reddish hair and beard
glowed hot in the noon day sun
his eyes as blue as the sky above
his clothes, hands, face,
filty with colored pigments
(he looked hungry
he always looked hungry)

he pulled a small pistol from his pocket

we cawed my buddies and I
when we saw him
put it to his stomach


then a shot!


we are black but we are not the night

pepe nero      copyright 2003

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