New Found Scents Poem by James McLain

I exhale their doggerel,
and their pallor is waxen a raccoon up a tree,
without any new found scents.

I imagine myself with a great amazon.
Superior mother my nurse,
and grassroots this mound covered in snow.
Instead,
the living haunt me with my arrested detention.
And nothing about what they did to me,
ever seems to happen.
I am no longer blind to it all but I can't see.
Venus standing out,
and putting all of her fingers on my pulse.