until it stops raining,
I am the spider writer
of my boyhood dreams,
only worrying (too much)
my way through Greenpoint.
Umbrellas are for suckers,
and I am soaked
on Guernsey and Oak,
in my helpless existence.
This is the sweet spot,
right before the decline,
in which I need to remember
to not forget to slow time,
and take it in street stride,
because we're all going to...