Tutored Tortured Mind Poem by James McLain

It is like watching TV, fifty different channels
rolled into one, excited an utterance was is.
Contently, amazed at the way, you twist the
wind of breath, your tongue, string wiggling.
I hide, your eyes diffrent hue when I sleep is
then awake the rake in Moulin Rouge, was
happy scoundrel, stone of Braille's story lines.
Your lines more than dare the mind, they
cross a time of different days, lost, gone.
You were taught by one not of me, you do like
the edge of space, the cut of razors mouth
more than your cheeks, you bleed me out.
Arms of your chair, grip you tight, the colors
left you *sigh*come back in, from the rain.