James McLain Poems

It was an uneven trade
my baseball mitt
for her
what do I do with her
...

There are no doors there are no windows
only a throne of cheese filled with holes.
Cushions of fragrance litter the commons
traveled pots o stew sprinkled over with little
...

Wear twigs of
oink.
likened
to some wing
...

Speak spoken spoke
heavy days are past
river slows me down
paddles always mask.
...

Good bad indifferent glad
hanging on the line
of time washing them away
is sad
...

Shifting mountain dunes of where I lay
none heard the plea
tearfully made I
ask of thee.
...

I cry O god in poetry heaven for all the sins
of the weany worms
whom sloth in squalor
O lord my cries you ignore while I languish
...

i paid...
to have my oil..
changed today....
and rest now..
...