Leather Glove's Poem by James McLain
Leather Glove's
One end is split the other can not speak
the Knott of fear
inside that grows, can never hide from me.
The pinch, the breadth
to some whom know, such knowledge
is the key.
A perfect word, a well turned phrase
each sentence
that is spoken that you read.
Why it is
the moon when full
brings you to the edge, the edge of sweet release.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: green
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4/24/2024 8:56:04 PM # 1.0.0.1119
