The moon shines brightly into my bedroom
its midnight and i just returned home from an evening of artistic treasures.
Charles Bukowski is my inspiration for these words, as he taught me any thought pure and innocent can and should be written.
in the reflection of my window I see my paintings.
As they stare at me i am reminded of how i have let that side of me go
I should get back to expressing myself in the painting medium.
the trees are sillotued by the city lights and the near full moon
the crazes will come out soon enough, as they do every two weeks
when the moon reaches its brightest.
the currents are pulled deep as well as our emotions.
my only wish for this evening is to fall asleep, being as the americana did not sit well.