I Can Not Submit But To That Poem by James McLain

I know what teachers are taught.
Caught up between the far right and science,
teaching math to the few caught in lies.
Simple it is math is not.
Weather boys play with fire just to be burned,
and a girl knowing better not to be spurned holds his tounge.
One man wanders in each direction.
Heading north at this time of the year,
is out of the question lost cause.
Heading east in the opposite direction,
puts some closer to the truth misdirection.
Leaving south to far gone to know one simple falsehood.
When the truth has sharp teeth,
one wakes up from deep sleep all the wiser.
Where you think back to dreams you lost then remembered.