James McLain Poems

To cry one day more never less.
One day,
every day the rain comes, I am wet.
End without end are my sorrows.
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While lactation does cyclically reappear
in right wing fox republicans,
it is a milking specialty.
Causally, preserved for the younger pages.
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Licking the face of a bad girls moon.
If it is flirty that is even,
chocolate and vanilla one or the other both is better.
I can not think of anything that could be more exotic.
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Blond she keeps her distance from me.
Not because of what you think,
but what she knows if she decides and does.
How long has she watched me part the water as I swim?
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Back and forth across the isle.
Charismatic smiles.
Smiling for her and for you, pinching my baby,
until she cries or dies.
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She remarks as she lights her a cigarette.
Just it has once lived.
Squatting to the back of.
Yellow a stream runs around the red stilettos.
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Road of ocher redness.
Purple of the deep green bush.
Because light of.,
Diverged from the dispersion.
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Consumed from within it becomes.
Fatigued,
are the rings at the center.
It is fatigued.
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The shadow person then when once a compilation.
Assembled for you it comes the night.
Before their was day and first she was blind.
Before I became she I was.
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But by us being upright in you I must.
You have touched myself, ringed by fire.
To wander about come in search of.
Seeded the roots pierce each heart.
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