Chance Gardener
The sun rises as a capital letter
That ball in my lefthand is harmless, the string in the right hand is what to worry about.
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Sharpen things, swim harder and look directly into the sun.
Alcohol, terpentyn and the poetic sleezyness of life
I'm a rythmic poet without sense for language and rythm, so I got into painting, whatever that may implie.