James McLain Poems

I was put not only here but there in the place of your sun.
Freed from all of the pain, pain that comes and goes.
Do you not know about what it is, thus by my any means?
What ever the whether I should have forever done it.
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If only woman can have babies.
Where do all the evil people,
seem too, never come from?
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when I am with the bee and you, when you came.
it can never withdraw from such change.
standing tall in the bushes.
you explaining, I never seem to listen.
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As for the accomplishments of this French maid person.
Car·i·ca·ture - as a cruel impersonal,
short ponied, char·is·mat·ic is it a predator?
This… Strauss-Kahn...
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Because I am sore, I inspect all great sorrows.
Where ever you go, I must greet them.
It Is your sorrow that I tested, I measure,
using narrowly using, the eye of the needle, I strictly.
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I think perhaps that when you come you won't.
Beating even though the center of your reason is.
The center is the reason why we cry.
I don't and both we know it why, it is for you to still.
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There at the closed end of the southern valley,
of bending often winding deep such thoughts.
Where so often,
then at dusk you used to cover me and hide.
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Could you know exactly and exactly know you could.
When how to she of paradise,
and to her wide is long and long is wise.
To whom can he entrust it to?
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I must not love you here or there you know because.
And yet without exception it is why because of you,
and is it simple when I say and loved I said are you.
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Only at her quite times, the iris pulls back the curtain.
Looking at attention are the apt pupils.
Quietly it lifts, pulled apart grandiloquently.
An image of a shadow peers in,
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