Sunday, December 18, 2011

Day Thirty Eight




as an artist
although my portfolio of work 
seems dead and long buried away in my memories

some value is beginning to emerge

as valued inspiration maybe 
as history revisited maybe 
as a moment in time expressed through creative eyes maybe

"come smell the flowers of the night" 

a book i wrote 
during 
the first joint 
american-soviet rock concert 
outside moscow 
1987


selling a dead peace of art 
to bring new life 
into the
 heart of loving oneself
decades later
inspiration turned into gold 

while completely depressed 
by not being
 completely present in the bliss

i am feeling like the dead tree
inspiration of decomposition

i am so sorry son
O
beloved one