Mad, The Queen Poem by James McLain

Like so many pretenders.
The queen feeds on her male young.
The bulge is her face in her panties.
Furry mice curry favor inside her.
The glove.
That is never loosely.
Fits brightly over my bald head.
The sun its yellow eye hangs above me.
Bold as the hungry lioness.
Running so fast far behind me.
I cleave to such, ripe with age.
Wisdom leaves me looking blind
As before my red eye's close shut.
She trust's that I rest next to mother.
Mad is the queen that has bourne me.




is it poetry