Vincent St. Clare
Comments about Vincent St. Clare
Night Over Lower Manhattan
The paved beige stretched over, beneath
The careless sky, didn’t you see the street
Ran with cheap beer and perennial philosophy?
When that poor sod couldn’t even shuffle his way to work
Amid the signs and sights of this cold city
Nero’s circus wasn’t always round, and when it was there was far more blood.
I knew. I know. A thief in the night
—The uncarved Wall stands between me and the street—
He’s pocketing here and there, this and that, beast and birthright
But nobody told you he could climb; everyone at this open-air party
Sulks and skulks and ...