1600 Pennsylvania Avenue Poem by James McLain

How much farther must we go,
to reach the land of sex and money.

The wasp's and bee's,
hurry move and buzz about my head.
The crows land and watch and sit upon
a iron planted fence.
That stretches round my pointed head.

Dragonfly's,
upon the roof that spit fire, consume
U.S. all who disagree.
Dragging my body
through the halls of guilded bribery.
Their golden chain
is stretched out of reach of my weak will.

To my shame and great pleasure,
the second lady,
took her silk panties off and sat upon
my face and takes a pee.
So close to me, that I can read her lip's.

They pump out all my blood and replace it with
their sour wine.
One tries to jerk me off and I just suck it
up back inside
just out of reach of prying eyes, behind the presidential
paintings on the pearl white walls.

A dynasty of broken doll's, look down from shelves,
porcelain little arrows,
that have pierced all their broken heart's,
now deaf and mute.

How much farther is it?
Scream the children in the car, here on vaction.
There is mud on all their feet, Thick, red and lumpy.
It is the thick red clay that they've brought up,
from God knows where.

How much farther is it, to that house upon a lawn,
where dog's like mine, laid out in state are buried..

1600 hundred Pennsylvania Avenue.
I ask a cop he say's, turn left, then take a right,
It's over there it's
surrounded and sits a way's out back, next to the swamp.


Where trust that is not blind is not a trust we find,
His children show.