James McLain Poems

The apple of the flesh.
Month to month it is full,
out of reach but for the smell.
During each month when I smell.
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Harsh words I won't speak, I whisper.
Though you can't speak, I listen.
Time is your friend as it spins back around.
Your thoughts are as mine, held at bay.
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Reason not right or wrong but what is.
Moon light at night, dark it is.
Need is the will struggle on.
Foot prints in sand lead us there.
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Your past your hour of need why go on some ask.
Your greatest fear you chase, it's why you dream.
Why I ask, are you here?
A student unmasked by the dawn,
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Grey concrete grayer is the paint.
What you see on t.v. isn't real.
Never is it silent and half had not their minds,
when they entered.
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Deep is this sleep when it comes.
Inside of your head floating from dream to dream,
as if dead.
Some times a woman, some times a man,
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Small honest children
They have no one to turn to
Only their parents
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Before there was metre or rhyme.
There was you.
And in you there was this burning need.
Art of the written word.
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Amongst all of that I once was.
Friends to me, still means that they are.
I lead with a question, I do not give pause.
Looking up at the sky, answers fly.
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Like flea's have you overtaken the world.
You put more planning in your next vacation to where?
Heading into the next great oven.
Burnt white or bleached you poor child think heavens there.
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