Harry's Store Poem by James McLain

Mother of the Highway 50 is sort of New York and,
there I was at a store in brookridge,
which now was telephoned out neon completely.
Gentrified flesh old geezers waiting to die resticted area.
Subjected every week it possesses of these of those,
therefore it is the extraterrestrial or the Greek goddess.
That was the issence of this my very venture.
There was a thing of worship cow dung in my bak yard.
The lonley rich
after the land are the ones
which follow my wife there, entertainment, the comedy
which is never there there, the music which is,
had the drama which is always there.
That materialized many energies ago I ask of you really.
I showed you facts that you think trust the image
and just a little charm shoed unto the club my life
is of words and raw materials which are our ways.
Concerning just a little the small-numbered lottto they play,
and the craving of the veristile people.
I meet other people gasp sigh when I finally,
perhaps with that romantic land slide I am falling in love.
Think of the ols whom no longer can go out to the clubs
Or in order to pass illegal love or the night of that kind of thing. Therefore as for me i am of that thing raw materials.
The pefect animal to everything of that.
You think of that when it starts
and all of that was filled with tress and bushes
when behind what you have I have got.