James McLain Poems

It is your crust
hard cheese
on which i nimbly nibble
crumbs fall to your face
...

It was an uneven trade
my baseball mitt
for her
what do I do with her
...

There are no doors there are no windows
only a throne of cheese filled with holes.
Cushions of fragrance litter the commons
traveled pots o stew sprinkled over with little
...

Wear twigs of
oink.
likened
to some wing
...

Speak spoken spoke
heavy days are past
river slows me down
paddles always mask.
...

I cry O god in poetry heaven for all the sins
of the weany worms
whom sloth in squalor
O lord my cries you ignore while I languish
...

Shifting mountain dunes of where I lay
none heard the plea
tearfully made I
ask of thee.
...

Good bad indifferent glad
hanging on the line
of time washing them away
is sad
...