On my front porch tall bikes…
and shanty towns drip drop from sheets of rain. Punks hold out in the corners of a town where rent has doubled in one year,vacancy is less than one percent and artists are making their living scooping ice cream for stoned trust fund babies.
Ever Tried. Ever Failed. No Matter.
Try Again, Fail Again, Fail Better
Here I am right over there, running into opportunities to stop running and hoping they keep my scent until my prayers are answered and I am brave enough to slow down.