Van Gogh Scares the Shit Out of Me

blinking silhouette
splashed with hot lights seduces the runway

letting her nakedness
intoxicate the sick

her slender arched feet
give me the blues

inside this strip club
along sunset boulevard

where Van Gogh’s ghost
is hunched over my trembling back

and we lonely married men
yearn for young ripe flesh

while tupac’s california dreamin’
booms above our heads

and the image of Van Gogh’s print hanging on my daughter’s wall
blinks in front of my eyes

as the girl dances like the wild cypresses
swaying above the yellow wheat fields

swirls of blue and white colliding
on the end of Van Gogh’s brush

before she climbs the gold pole
i smell the meat of her white thighs as they go snug, like a vice, around the coolness of the pole

i reach in my pocket for mo-green
to keep feeding her crisp dollars because she is the free cypress

she is the knife grazing my neck
she is the what if . . .