Dirty Little Girl Poem by James McLain

Bleeding my heart
her center to the thing always the wind where the girl went, sold.
The loud laughter, under, above beneath the moon
which is not under the large dark cloudy sky.
The center of the girl,
wind which you steal dancing a little as it goes by.
The wood how it shakes violently.
See the girl her hand,
like the wind which steals the center is so small.
How their are small those, see visa-vies the large sky, navigation
is by the stars, remember it is overcast dark and cloudy.
'O' the sky, the center of the girl that is red, how it becomes dirty,
and you see it.
Rolling down the window, pealing mine off, a muffled mumble.