Knocked Up Poem by James McLain

Barren like the back of the hand, land that is.
If my foot ever touched that spot or the shadow
fell out and straining would we hear of the rest?

Cast forth is each nor the burnt center.
Thine majority.
You thus attached.
And by the many singular s's.

Crack in the moon and the body.
Roe ve wade with out it.
It comes to mind your mind to make me smooth achin.
And you did not obtain it.
For any amount.
I to you the light how it burns me.
I write and the fire
the fire and in a little more than where
the brown pile is the club
and now it is by it the eye I then hit.
Life for them o' slumber away night he cries.