A Negative Poem by James McLain

Since we are not talking about blood, let us stop
the wast of silver in these, your last still, when
you sat for me, to have that picture taken.

Was it not? Just about the money..in the end

Y&U, ponder the voices, those in your head, some
of course would not have your best interest at heart
agents do come and go, so while...you are...
flowing through rocks with lose jagged ends, like the
hair, which moved by some choice, since lost to me.

You pick the mode that moves my feet, I do not always
float either, still that picture is wicked dab, like I once said,
when you become famous, what do I do with all those lost
photographs, not all of which are stuck in my head,
un exposed.

The camera is still on.I know in your very own words, the
show must go on untill we are dead, for the cause.