JIM TRAINER'S POEM OF THE WEEK
BYE BYWATER (MORE AMERICAN CENTURY BLUES)
fucking as the kids run
through the graves out past
the stuck fence
sun come slantin on
the riotous bed like a page turn
her ring in the cracked hands
of the idol of the dry fountain
overgrown with rot and bloodweed
stock-still on the platform
pressing a key into her wan palm
knuckling tears as the
cars steam and whine
the end of a decade
of found and made luck
grew on me like a bone spur
heart fuller than a charnel urn
