Freely It Dissociates Poem by James McLain

It is the gift you pay, in heavy,
lost is gray for.
Abuse, of self, others you shelve
resting in some ground, burned
or donated to university.
A few live,
you are yelling,
it's eyes stare lost in side it's void.
Your voice a dim buzz,
your lips move so slowly,
like thin strips of clear spotted liver.
Again looking down, into you,
wondering can't you see it is, not home?
Thus it must, is freely dissociated you.