Around Her Arena Poem by James McLain

Didn't the other's, I was led to believe,
To me, they said talk was cheap.
Afraid at the beach to enter the water,
Translucent
Once it got wet all could see through it.

Bunched into a large squirming mass,
Just like fish
My own personal ritual of death,
As some stabbed at it.

After the first touch deep to the heart,
Down, down much deeper down, fluent they danced
Caught by their horns.

Latter that night as I lay thinking in bed,
To tender to touch,
Caked in dried rust that flaked off in my
Sheet's as I slept.