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he stayed up staring in the apartment built tenement houses of the Lower East Side, smoking & tapping
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clicking & thinking at that typewriter, a poet escaping from his insides
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down below at the street there were sounds of a saxophone or taxi bell or the whistle clang of the elevated train
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the winged angel perched atop the building rooftop monuments of decay
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| the moon & the Brooklyn Bridge & he knew then that to say was to feel & to feel was to think |
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there was no failure in losing
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but only a failure to be condemned by the ones trapped in the commonplace motion of the year
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- Ali and Clare
poem by Ewan Munro
read more @ http://ewanmunro.tumblr.com/
