By Ishmael von Heidrick-Barnes
Van Gogh’s Shoes
I left Amsterdam
with a pair of shoes
found nailed to a wall
Retreated
from the impasto strokes of boats
painting canals
with psychedelic cafes
and gabled brothels:
The piracy of capitalism
pillaging its weakest flowers
I refused to wear a gas mask
or take guided tours
of the holocaust
Why pay an arm or leg
for a brand
that continues to sail worldwide?
I survived
murder by bicycle
witnessed
the bloody orgasm of light
carving bodies of water
without tasting cheese under glass
If it wasn’t for Van Gogh’s shoes
a product of poverty
I might have lost my shirt
to Dutch tolerance
laughing all the way to Swiss banks