Monday, January 18, 2016


Every so often I get this ludicrous feeling,
of; 'This is going to do it for me! This is the
one that will get people talking, push me right
over the top.' Of course, nothing happens
and I'm the same old flop. But, yet there's
instilled, somewhere within me, the good
feeling that the trying is more than the game,
it is the game itself plus all the push and 
verve that builds it. 
I can understand. An early morning sunside 
trip through Brooklyn lower, walking. That 
brings it to me. I scan the arch-fold cathedral bridge 
and it echoes Hart Crane : the gentle maraud of 
a billion passing feet; Bedlamites, on dark parade.
There is a writer's hand, I know it, on 
the tiller of my ship.

No comments: