James McLain Poems

The red scarf around my cut it won't, heal it won't seal.
Come quietly to me it is right here, you want to see it?
Like all the others you stick your other finger in it?
Like he once said of it, to me to see if it's really me?
...

Pale is my sister, her moon.
It lies there sleeping when it is opened.
Light under my demanding, strong hand.
Mourning comes dawn, is my other.
...

Whom am I to fight conformity, it howls.
To the depths of the sea.
Of your purple skin painted on it fascinates me,
by the love of the moon.
...

I am not yours the girl you make me so complete,
my hair is always not.
Even if it is.
How I am restricted it is installed and,
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When does the trinity to love one another,
reach out to the other hand of love?
When at the end you must choose.
Sweeter between, to love and that of hate.
...

At I sing out to the sting of her wide hips.
I am not afraid as I was by her taught,
I look up to the light across from the sun,
my skin on fire, it is cold hear him say
...

You look at him there
and turn away when he looks.
What he sees,
is what you intended to show.
...

It is across the many never shallow pits,
are they deeply felt or ever barren fields of leaves.
My dearest of all your Dearest, love of fears,
it is but to many to but never take to task.
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After thrice being stung.
Feeling, feels like.
Having two babies at once
and never being halved.
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Why do you need it
here, right there?
Looking,
I look very long.
...