James McLain Poems

It has waited forever to burn
one thin strip around it's Terra
it is then in the reckoning of her
-shelves
...

It is one red sore eye, as
a down stairs, it is vision
blind as one wanderer of
many weeds, choked thin
...

Just the sound of butter is so, so..so..wells..of
wholesomeness, it is beauty, it's cow in the fridge,
moo-wing for you, still the other, when
reduced, is like pale, once pink, Sundas
...

It was not out of any disrespect, of
it was usually because the familiars,
rejected them selves and became familial.
So he puts on Rabi tears, dances to your plums,
...

Is grace? hidden,
cotton, tinkly flushed,
radiating so brilliantly,
not through all around,
...

Me myself the i, it dots as swell.
Wherefore then from whence,
this butter ran unto my loaf,
so thinly sliced,
...

You clutch your law, unto your self,
wrapped in safeties drug, of cloak.
It is what you have striven for these
long hard years?
...

It for years, it's
has tried to be effluent
in the art, of the dump.
Standing up, on its side,
...

There is the wicked goods,
in with the wicked bads.....
Basket is always full, it is..
So do not be confused,
...