Is it not impossible to <br />Stalk this town in <br />Blind-man shades? <br />Surely, one would tend to think - <br />The winding, cobbled street, by <br />Texture and by horse-smell, <br />Butcher’s corner, stale blood <br />Trail, a whiff of evening ale <br /> <br />The silver-bearded violinist, <br />Hat displayed - he’s twenty quid a <br />Richer man, <br />Plus my soul in change - <br /> <br />Paid, and with a pause in <br />Sorrowful refrain <br />He decrees, “You are the night” <br /> <br />And I’ve become the night! <br /> <br />Dog piss, street lamp accolade <br />Stick-in-hand, I <br />Navigate the gutter trash, <br />The moistened promenade <br />By touch <br /> By touch alone<br /><br />Kelly Vinal<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/observation-touch/
