Bury Your Dead Poem by James McLain

It holds no interracial claim to our bodies.
Ghosts can not tell you the time.
Even the dead through the window
they climbed on their own.
I dig them up to update their
mother's claim that their father mislead.
After all the dead said talk to deaf ears.
The rats in the yellow leaves eye each other.
One face after the other, begin to chew.
Strippers that came to this disco bar.
Left out the back in a black plastic bag.
Mummies crack whores makes foreign
to these shores all have had.
She remembers these words about how.
If it wasn't for cheating men,
a different profession they'd like to know.