Cia Kinda Mind Poem by James McLain

Gross Socrates, excoriated
to run uptown in mire to lay
upwind in kin the..CIA...........

No, i dunna think so, not in me.
Mine are of a diffrent soul, with eyes that see
a diffident sky than i was told it'd be.

I do, I did, I Romes it wide the shallow
graves the kind that spook a child in
sleep so deep, you drink your thumb.

I canna imagine islands bare, words
hollow, reed, breath, of ink that, bleeds.