WEBVTT

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Someone will cry out,
the loss of an ear.

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A certain stiffness before the
journey will find his voice.

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Lord, no bird can sing this way.

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I look at the
white canvas primed

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like an expert guided forward.

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Is my father there?

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Like a man in his
sleep, like marriage,

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like a boy whistling
for his dog,

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I have never seen
anything like it before.

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It is perhaps epsilon, or
the thematic curse of Ham,

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or the dignity and immense
madness of children.

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And for the sake of atmosphere
and tone, like van Gogh,

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I rage for everything.

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