The Ditraction, S Poem by James McLain

To make you a word,
UN repulsive, soft alive,
sharp to cut, blush to rush, is experiment's,
half of life.
To holds you still, pinned as emo, boy, girl
cutting around up down, while the mirror,
calls your name.
You, ..your rose it's softness unconfined
in silks plush, cupped breath of hand,
you are it's name, it is what..tell me?
You Sir: chained to the wall, gagged muffled,
it's she, hears you SOB uncontrollably, as she in black
leather lays it on again, it's more again, than not.
It's OJ that you run our town, after all we golf together.
Disruptions, pour mad T.V..unremitances, eruptions
controlled guided, on preachers court, our time rushes
in on one last glorious,
round of applause, you know,
your show must go on, without pause.
Remember to smile at the usher, crushed verve's is back..