Anonymous father

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

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