James McLain Poems

In the middle of the room
the hand moves so slowly.
The petals open for years
rich in tears by the window
...

From the window, drifts
two voices, one is soft,
the other much deeper.
The deep voice, seems
...

Past midnight,
the ever green moves
in some Strong,
caricature's dance.
...

Your mask..
my mind..taken..
Wrapped..fingers..
around..my..
...

A shadows voice...
low in timber grows..
Between the sheets..
Clears one pond..
...

The air...is still..thick..
Heavy..moist..it..moves..
Around...a dropp of water..
That drips from the moss..
...

We fly on it..gripped by brown hemp..
Rope..as it....drives us up ever higher..
Against sky's..pale..blue eye..two..silk..
Filled hands....slows it down...we swing..
...

How did you expect me
to know you from the
bird flying bye.
You ask things that have no answer..
...

The moon feigns a sigh..
Moons high lights shine..
Rose..moon over pond..
Moon sleeps with moon...
...

Every breath..each next it struggles..so..
To best me...I cannot trust..if..it is not..as..
Feet rest upon my chest..pushing down..
My heart squeezes..in vein..blue blood..it..
...