And Just Last Night Poem by James McLain

and just last night
just after right before
comes deaths white wings of sleep
hard fought I wrestle with
not knowing
is it to be or not that gift or graft
of which some speak.
A hand full of pills, I follow down.
My sister comes and screams about
her Daughters, death at twenty one.
The Judge I tell her is perhaps the cause
when he finds out
that you were sleeping,
even sexing with your brothers alcoholic wife.
That there are pictures of your car,
one being nude and every thing except
one's mouth and practicing the fine art's
my daughter saw, as did her sun before I came.
Black mail is the scam for being married
those ten times to bring those Arabs in
when even the President did not in ways like that.
I am broke because of that,
yet even still, I won't do that a picture yells.