Anonymous father

let me be your prodigal son

I need a bucket for my inspiration

an alley milk-crate

a paint bucket

a vessel

I need something to hold it

if you are my training wheels, I can’t bicycle without you

you are the unexpected warmth of ten hundred suns

you are my sudden good fortune

.

I can’t look into the infinity of my muse, alone

Help me, Help me

.

That nothing comes from work is the oldest, and last, story that we ever learn