Wild Flowers Poem by James McLain

The snake that listlessly waits.
Sleepy eyed glass it has lids.
To turn out the lights.
Long it is slim there but thick.
Wrapped around her short arm.
It tries and still it waits.
Head in hand like that rolling tumble weed,
over yonder and writing sweet words.
That make me more there damp I weep,
and watching the fist tighten slowly.
Dozing off suddenly.
And it is hot lightning injection fast.
It is over and under sharp is the gasp.
As she become quiet in nocturnal sleep.
Reestablished order comes over the hood.
Is, to wait please be through sleeplessness.
(one did not think) the thrill of such beings!
Hers is the wild flower that turned tears into stone.