James McLain Poems

I tremble at your feet, with your toes..
This foot of grace, to my right, in the sand..
Little tributaries, attest to your loyalty, i would
bath them in salted tears.
...

I look up, into your leaves, like rain washing down
to the sea.
I do not mind, the hard times, i hold still, as dirt and
sticks, dust my face.
...

When you are done, servicing your poem..
You, i am sure hit the little, colorless button, how drab,
should be pink..
The connection takes forever and a day, am i right..first
...

Please, these interrogations must stop,
they make me ill.
Why must you always ask that?
I cannot recall, where they came from.
...

Extends through my body, contained within, blown without,
controlled by a vibrant hued, pink livid hand.
To dangle, on this her spigot, brings her joy, on this for her, for
her only, do i, must i, will i swing..while she sings....
...

I eat the dirt, it taste like dirt
it is not the dirt, i profess it is.
It is not the sun, it is a smile
it helps me realize, it is not.
...

I stand, alone in the wind, berift, tired
and cold.
The window glazed from ice, grand
image, even grander.
...