The Beautiful Woman's Daughter Poem by James McLain

Look at the young man as like he has never before.
Blank the look on the face of the adult.
As he dies on the tip of each death.
Sara's breast pumps dropp one poet in a cotton cell.

Full the moon small bottom feeders smell of the moon.
The banana peeled is viscous unrelenting in it's.
My/why I now sleep so lost above things exciled.
Trading her secrets for more to they whom come after.

On the pain of not understanding caught between.
The lines of literature.
I have complicated what was thought to be wih vibrators.
Unsaid things mentionables being southern.
And of abortions doubled glass two fingers maybe three.
Stright up.
I have my girl friends mother she nurses my love of you.
One sky leaves the traveler greatful for loneliness.

On the left and right in my hand.
A beautiful woman's daughter,
of my dearest day by day the air smells different.
Is this your secret too?
When normal is your world I left behind.

I have said my first love even through the air brush of ponagraphy.
White apple blooms phantoms from some other bloom.
She as I, would be in me in between them the bee one and all.

Remember that the angle of each straight azimuth,
is to hot and bold to hold yet.
The bright red blood dress is schizophrenia
taking it's leave, here open your eyes and feel it.

Treachery is cold and the reincarnated leafless dress.
Bubbled dreams come out from the heart.
As I echo the last hidden vally moving under the ice.
Helplessly kissing the twin peaks falling without wings
back into the valley of butterflies.

On the eve and morn of each new death.
The spiders eye even now rememebrs the death of a boy.
While the lolly pops are not always pink
and how it shakes my red puffy lips as they shine.
Simple when words pull out the juices of death.
Smaller than them I am even larger than that.