thomas macdonald

 

 

Look Into My Mirror

 

 

		Look into the mirror of my art and behold my crazy heart crying inside, weeping for the kiss of my mind, missing the bliss cerebral somersaults bring.
Look into the mirror of my mind and see my heartfelt art laughing at the languid lyrics the poet spins on spider strings, and the peace the painter portrays of pretty, platinum pleasure.
	This mirror, it has reflections of an author's aesthetic essence singing stories of the soul about Black angels and violet diamonds, heavy heavens amid heart-aching hells, of dancing demons and grumbling gods alike...
		This mirror, it voices my Venus Vibrations plus all its alliterations and complications, its fearful tears and teary fears about my life and its death, where I cry blood drops that stain the starry rain.
	Look into the mirror of my secret style and feel my feelings flow forever...
I am a child, and I crave your attention, your accolades and affection, your aggression and your anger because I create angry art for easy minds, so spin into this world of mine...
	Look into my mirror and tell me you see beauty. Tell me you can smell it, taste it, feel it, hate it. Tell me you can think it and then tell me you can link it to your lambent world of logic, where your thoughts float like cuddly clouds abound into an Eden of my artistic endeavors.
		Take care, for all's fair. You have a piece of my emotion and thought for your troubles, and share with your women and their men my mirror and its bubbles, my mirror of mind and heart (light and dark), and all its many creative arts.
	I give you all of me,
Because I want to bestow beauty.
	Just beauty, balance and symmetry.
		Love my art for me.
	Please?
Please, just look into...
		My mirror...