Marrying The Whore Poem by James McLain

Marrying the Whore; and did I
and did you, did we partake of both.
Why do I choke,
Look down below me I grow some more.
My ignorance was then made of snow.
Innocence in tow, she still owns.


Pastures hands, did he know, how each shook.
Every week in his church, all those looks.

Stark contrast and relief every time
I pulled out, loud alarms by the bed
stood quite still and never like me, would go off.

No amount of fish could I catch dare erase
the smell from my tounge and taste from my nose.

Who taught that five fingered sloth with those
claws,
moving too slow up and down that tree, it's art.


But as the moon each night made head way
and I never knew not too ask of her why,
I being simple as her wanton suckled child.
That each dropp that oozed out from both tips
of each breasts,
helped only too gather more clouds in my mind.




a.s.