1996 Road Movie, leaving, Long Island

1996 Road Movie  leaving, Long Island 

the gaudy mythos, 

revolving 

down 

into Orphic AMERICA 

from under his Mountains,

this mock hero,

this fiction into a historic journey 

of the second chance, 

the American west, kicking the shards in 

dust and tumbleweed, 

Sierra in distance, 

the bird, 

out there, 

somewhere, in the sun

and hoped for future.

a moment

cycling 

revolves crystal

re-dreamed, 

the gods echoed in the sky,

Become that tree!

The oneness in copying, 

Well, he wondered

We becoming it? 

One,

to be one, with

breathing with these 

cycles of universe, 

copying,

becoming--

 “and to all these who sold out the 

imagination,” he was unsparing,  

”...who killed 

the red headed bird?”

to name this self 

and renaming it,

this self, me

the not me

conscious me

unconscious me

real me.

I have picked out the more optimistic parts. There was a time in the Art World that I struggled through much negativity. It was a disappointment to find it seemed that bent of mind was winning out. Possibly these ensuing years have been a struggle to hold my own against this prevailing trend in culture.