Van Gogh in Chicago

Do you know where you are
dear man?

You look and you look.
Nothing beyond color or clarity.

I indulge myself (honor?)
No matter which way I look
at you, you do not see me.

All vision is internal.

From mirror to canvas
What truth are you giving me now?

Am I ever not looking at myself?

Hog butchers commune with potato eaters
in some gallery of meaning.

When will I ever stop painting
my own self portrait?
Nothing exists beyond the frame.