Mental Imagination Is An Eye Smelling Your Taste Poem by James McLain

Thousands
always look down to
a void isms
which are us our noise.
Do you do more than
watch potatoes
fry in vats
humorless void our mind.
Izzy potted
headless smiling lips do
pull painful grimace
in hollowed cheek-ness.
Checks above
you bounced one time
to many on moneyed ham
is spicy yum.
You do, don't you
try time and again city
sexless untill
you step in john is married.
You mizz doe
tentacle wrinkled bell winged
crack your jar
filled creams stilled of smell.
Barks dog sweet
never cowardly digging
inside your mind
fresh chews even it declines.
So the little
scared sparrow poo ts in your nest
warm matted forest
narrow rivers reed holding a small hat.