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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 trudges flame and fate

And toys with the timid notion that even Heaven plays

In tune with those double-dealers that straddle the sidewalks,

Selling souls and organic salads and plastic-wrapped theodicies.

 

(Ninety-eight ways to go out with a bang in the televised jungle,

But you’ve stuck it to him, haven’t ya?)

 

Our supple bodies stuck to the storm drains,

A trillion lives and miles disgraced by everything under Heaven, 

And, among the toils and boiling heads

That rage and roll beneath the quiet stars,


I’ve cast my vote to that thoughtless ‘Wide’

—The careless Sky—

And these Barren Streets.

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Vincent St. Clare

⁽ᴺᴼᵀᴵᶜᴱ: ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ˡᶦᵏᵉˡʸ ᵗᵒ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ᵘᵖᵈᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵃᶜᶜᵉˢˢ ᵗᵒ/ᵃᵇᶦˡᶦᵗʸ ᵗᵒ ᵛᶦᵉʷ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵘˡˡ ᵐᵉᵃˢᵘʳᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵁⁿᶦᶜᵒᵈᵉ ᶜʰᵃʳᵃᶜᵗᵉʳˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉᵐᵒʲᶦˢ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ ʷʳᶦᵗᵗᵉⁿ ʰᵉʳᵉ, ᵃˢ ᴵ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ᵖᵉⁿᶜʰᵃⁿᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ᶦⁿˢᵉʳᵗᶦⁿᵍ ᵘⁿⁿᵉᶜᵉˢˢᵃʳʸ ˢʸᵐᵇᵒˡˢ ᶦⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵛᵃʳᶦᵒᵘˢ ᵇᶦᵒˢ ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ʷʳᶦᵗᵗᵉⁿ ᵃᵗᵗᵉᵐᵖᵗᶦⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵈᵉᶠᶦⁿᵉ, ᶜᵃᵖᵗᵘʳᵉ, ᵉⁿᶜᵃᵖˢᵘˡᵃᵗᵉ, ᵒʳ ᵉˣᵖˡᵃᶦⁿ ʷʰᵒ ᴵ ᵃᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᴵ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᶦⁿᵘᵉ ᵗᵒ ˡᶦᵛᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ. ⁽... ᵀᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵒᶦⁿᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ...⁾⁾ ⚜️ 【𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂: ⮕ I usually don't pull punches when it comes to my creative expression. Some content I produce may only be age-appropriate for adults. That's potentially the case when it comes to any of my work—past, present, or future. Thus, some material viewable on this particular Power Poetry account page (that is, in this very bio), possibly including some of the poems (or portions of poems) featured here, may ALSO only be age-appropriate for adults, best suited to individuals 18+ or 21+. ◆ Additionally, explicit content may appear on the various social media accounts and other online profiles I have managed or today manage, as well as the web pages and websites I have managed or have contributed to, or am currently administrating, updating, or active (even if only somewhat active) on. Hence, I recommend following any links to any of my online presences, posts, and publications with caution. ◆ When it comes to my verse—and remember: this may also apply, in certain instances, to my other creative works, regardless of medium—explicit content can consist of the poetic use of (or allusions to/references to/mention[s] of) the following: • strong language; • alienation (whether communal—e.g., alienation from (or within the context of) one's country, culture, family, religion, nation, or society—or personal/private—e.g., alienation in an egoic, existential, psychological, or spiritual sense); • conflict (e.g., class, cultural, economic, familial, generally interpersonal, religious, resource); • death; • grief and loss; • pain (whether emotional/psychological or physical); • sexuality; • addiction, including substance use and abuse; • violence; • explicit topics like abuse and neglect, self-harm, and potentially harmful ideologies. <...> ... It's a fair warning, I think.】 🔹️⌞═══════ ⚜️ ═══════⌝ 🔹️ V.—or Vincent—St. Clare. "Empty Sky." (Among other names and such.) A nom de plume. (...Or *guerre*, depending on your perspective...) "V. St. C", "Vinny St. Clare", or "Vincenzo Santa Chiara", even, though really you can call me [by] any name you prefer. (Examples include dipsh*t, burnout, creep, crackpot, misfit, screwball, a fluke [of nature], a flake [all the same], and so forth and so on.) A fledgling writer, amateur[ish] quasi-"philosopher"/thinker[-er], some half-as*ed attempt at a "mystic" or "magic[k]ian" (*id est*, 'Thee Prophet ov Crestfallen Alchemical Clowns Everywhere ❬™❭, a.k.a. [Fra.] CÆLVM INNOMINATVM, lately creating cacophony under the name UNKNOWN CROWN (⁉️👑/⸘♚)), and a dislocated suburban cowboy. I'm couch-locked and hell-bound, an armchair idiot facing an everlasting omnilemma, pis*ing alchemy into the wind and pis*ing life away with an overburdened spiritual bladder. I've got a head on wheels and a heart on fire. I've been wandering in place for the past few countless eternities, simultaneously waiting on death and running after the *summum bonum*, that mirage we like to call "the good life". I'm ideally looking to ride out the latest eschaton, though frankly I'm not too hopeful about my (or anyone's) prospects, so these days I'm mostly just looking for reasons to tell off the universe despite my desire for true peace of mind. (And don't we all want that, in the end?) {... All times and places and spaces are colliding and combining, whether "out there" in some "actual" world or just in my head or yours or in ours together or neither or both or whatever, etc., etc., and so on and so forth, ad infinitum, ad absurdum, yada yada, lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, blah blah blah…}🔹️【linktr.ee/vincent_st.clare || thegrandtangent.com】

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