My Observation Of Children And Their Secrets Poem by James McLain

Some of my feeling never once I have told you.
Cotton bottoms a flower once gone, never picked.
We as we can yes we raise it, we raise it to raise it,
thus will we raise it, because simple is this, we can.

Each of my sisters,
with him in the middle we do, what we can
to help him.
Children their secrets an observation on keys,
swirling clouds, silver spray at night when he comes.

Sugar and spice like water and death,
rocks inside each breast is a beast,
day and night, god and the devil
and once we were beings, no more.

She did not rush me into my house of dreams,
of children, wine and drugs, more sex.
Children of war made from peace.
Will you not come help the good woman
open more petals?

Guns made from the juice,
from the middle it oozes, dark rich, red blood.
Gray red, puffy lips how they shine.
Rasins dried in the sun, shinny brass buttons.

Always pink,
grape wine, draws ants,
sucking noises, soft whimpers and quite cries.
Very small is the mask that hides in my hands,
roses and thorns that cause it to bleed.

All my 'roses'—only 'lily' knew—no frowns he of her,
expanded, wash it off lost things oh where is my dad?
Pink of arches and fingers like daggers arcs the sky.
As your finger moves it black from the sea.

His hand in the nymph her water- where she swims.
Pushing her heart up made to look closer
and full wide and free are her lips as more feathers,
come out of glass made of crystal.
After I smell it and I taste it.

Into my hand, who I am, thus it is loved and by you only you.
Stay free of the shadow of your, his the keeper,
because careful it enters, when by your shallow breathing
you sleeping, pink heart is the center, it is.