Three Poems

Untitled

a spare change philosopher
rides the CTA
and emerges from eternities
of Platonic
jiggles and twists
towards Chinese Art Museums
and Butcher Shops.

a soft philosopher, he
strums his jews harp
his sacs banging together
like sour chimes.

his blowsy pagan art
and neolithic ordor
offends the morning crowd
and a pendant
hangs round his neck
like a Runic doublecross
bisecting centuries.

mlb          Albuquerque, Albireo Quarterly, Spring 1976

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A Party

At parties
I'm something else
as Quinn
describes my bag.

One Ofay
awash in splibs
as black debate
wings thru Beaujolais
and Calvert with Coke.

Close the books.
Furies in the streets.
And all the time
in that little room
a party.

mlb          Albuquerque, Albireo Quarterly, Spring 1976

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In a Strange Terminal

In a strange terminal
memories fracture and fragment
like hungry and inquisitive flies.
The flies chatter incessantly and
sense and settle on a second's thought.
Their wings never stop and
they feed on my past
weaving the most fabulous stories
in some obscure language
which I can barely discern.

mlb           10/03