James McLain Poems

Do you wish to be chained
high off the floor,
and low to flow and moan?
...

I reach up and offer you one
last gold butter finger to eat.
...

The burden of truth spread out with nuns
will I be hurt
the evidentiary facts all need
to grow into thorns
...

You have seen them there hanging,
On the wheels that slides you,
Up and down,
At will,
...

I walk around her.
She has naught presumed.
The people's court.
A poor mother.
...

And you will
when you last wrote me.
September's bridge to the fall
Autumn calls.
...

Leave it up to him
to spoil
our whet dreams.
...

Beforehand glory is a flirt
and
the twin sharing
each moving jigsaw mistakes.
...

In the heat of a city by the bay
exact and you, you and me.
Verily I am not sure of you always.
Indeed as you speak of with always.
...

There are the other ones whom then when
last they came
their toes curled up and about mine
subject matter a hero's welcome renewed
...