Yes, She Plays A Haunting, On Maleness Poem by James McLain

Heartless beat, is fixed mind runeless...
She grabs one vine after the other, sleeping
in leaves tea water.
The bush hides my face, the rose is blooded.
Her moon, tears fall, I wipe them with her heart
to cluck the center of the bud, eyeless.
I stare at her through the bottom of the bottle.
It magnifies her sou-less qualities, without them
folds petals of squalor, bent in deaths grippe.
I dont need to fetch her, any more oil is yesterdays, today.
Rolling her over, I remove my ring from her nose.