Cotton Mouth Poem by James McLain

Cotton mouth...this word...
renders..some..
southern condition....
and ripe sweet breath...
sometimes deeply held...
stations....laid out...
pasts..hidden...
revealed....situations..
sought out....
Cotton mouth...and...
woodpiles...that..
whisper...over sweating..
navels....bodies clean..
of thought..unwashed..
hard...clamoring for..
attention...when..trees..
hang over the strong fence...
might gives way...and more..
The other is so...digressive..
and backing up...you fall...
unheard...and it slides up...
with you watching...wide eyed..
never too fear...deep inside..
what you hide...from the day...
Behind the curtain....
made of cotton you wait...
and there being....
no stranger around...
From the heart of town...
the known stranger...
moves through the window...
opportunity and moon...
leaving wide the ditch...
for tomorrows...local...crew..
and molasses runs slow...
To the man...and some ask...
about that cotton mouth....
man...
that ran sun yellow...
through the dawn...

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