You Can Tell Poem by James McLain

By a back hand, flip, glib, lip.
So i know, you know, i know, but really do you
really know, how to work on a chain gang, unprovoked.
Fake people screaming, bleeding, just inging, yes i know.
Remember i said, remember today, bored unsatisfied,
watching as life passed you by, offered choices to meet
some special need, other than one, offers from moon
once buffed, so clean.
Poor dry cracked faces, make up gone wet, you lay in your
room,
puffing on others, from a vantage point, high you saw
on some wicked show about males and how to clean them
and serve them so rare.
Wicked was the day the doctor called out lost names...Once
bound never tied, to dreams surreal..
I get on my hands and knees, to speak through the hole,
where we live, where we meet every day for lunch.