Flesh Rising-Amber Poem by James McLain

You like to find what's not found
on the ground but beneath of it lies the hill.
In something grand smothered nomenclature,
in the crest, distinct, yet it breaths alive.
Feathers out of glass made of crystal,
hidden beneath, do you think.
Do you see what i see does it shrink.
Dressed in white tears;
bones of the dead you squeeze then withdraw
and extend green each blade
by the blade on the council they milking us all.
Conical like so for the fasteners winged swiftness,
it bore to the red heart, but/you my love are fragile,
sweet substance dismounting design on it fell.
Or a fruit, many dark manly names,
locked up in rough brown skin, the flesh rising-amber,
and granite it: the seed a wood stone, cuts out away
and polished, nut butter-colored, formed like the cream
washed away, but it's large,
large enough to fill the famished palm of your hand.
come then like the juicy stem as you rest on the grass
which develops in the rougher round edges each sheet
you have folded and the gleam of butterscotch
in the narrow groove;
whose morning-glory opens so blue
and expresses one morning it's hot it's yellow it's you..