No More Miracles Poem by James McLain

Movies come in handy
as does smoke
without mirrors
needless you will say
drifting smoke scentless sensing
scents is you calling
swirling thining settling
hair thin softly
whispers ear gone by
hearing admissions
hold of thresh
inters expanding
exploding breath drained
as plumbed a pipe
would lay in the wake
of a dying ember
snubbed withdrawn
satisfaction is knowing
you were just as suprised
as the rest
sleeping never knowing how or
when will I ever come back to you like that.