"I started writing hundred of poems and sending them out. You know poetry doesn't pay anything, it was just a form I needed. Kind of a passionate, pleasurable, selfish, nice form where you can scream a bit. I guess I needed to scream a little bit." C. Bukowski
Monday, October 26, 2015
day twenty nine : rain
four weeks
packed away
into a raincoat
i forgot
when i walked to the shop
for apples
i passed an older man
he warned me:
you better turn back now
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