Yes It Is True, To True Poem by James McLain

you wasted every thing
except the beetle dung
paper.
life is not a round ball is
pushed from your hand
like stands of privileged
trees.
the crust behind your ears
tells me you are martial in
arts of years fl actuated off.
yet the streak of tears you
leave on my seat cushions
tells me your head is position-
-oneced-wrong to many times.
i will be in the auditorium to
sign lost papers if you want
to sneak in more detail is riddle.