Manic The Banshee Poem by James McLain

She triples her net worth with a flip
of her hand I return to her when she calls.
Cutting the valley in half
with my finger I open the flower, she falls.
Can you toy with his choice of words
when he watches you wait for his words.
Walking the tight rope, you never fall
from the heights where all wait as I watch.
Coming down, I climb up each twin peek.
Open eye's closing, as I move around deep inside.
Manic women beautiful are
and better nurses true hero's never were.
Champagne blue lead cups casting your shadow on me.
Of course bigger logs in the forests, tall trees
most claim that they climb.
Awakened from sleep,
the fairest of face when I look down, I have found.