It Is'Nt Poem by James McLain

Clever pot at rainbows end eye will ever find
bound colors bending beaten bows of gold
fancy high britchs sigh that happy flight in air
streaming hair fingers bare their clutching wind
sitting fast mindful soul green between to know
dressing windows peering ledges groan a crack
glass so payned moist with breath waiting known
stairs foever white top cloud cotton tiped is eared
nearing pharo cubed in cheese holy be thy feared
dreaming sand toes are bared cleaning all the nails
eating chips hunger all falling from some lips to mean
lumpy blankets formed from air that stailed in stall
stove infuse tha flame bread breath in normal form
night and day I slide away to land I dream alone you laugh.