the muse

for the past few

years i have sat

at the typewriter

at a moment like this

trying to hear

the words which i

am sure are whistling

about in my phantom brain

a whipped and whirling

message

floating down

the Hippocrene

a hobo of thought

panning across the

asphalt mind

wandering

bypassing holy town

forgetting pietyville

trying not to go thru

moral city to beg

a bowl of message

my tin cup runneth over

with itself

my thumb is ready

for a new

pair of shoes

                        boca chica key fla oct l964