Jim Trainer

feng huang

In Uncategorized on August 6, 2012 at 9:55 am

Curtains drawn. Curtains blowing in. A dark summer afternoon lying against momma’s chest. Syncing his breath to hers. August.
The creeks have stilled to oily black hues. The burnt amber rolls and roils, asking nothing. All lies under the high yellow sun. Crow hide in they places. The redbird will not return.
September coming, coming of age in that town. With rolled cigarettes&white tee-shirts and drugstore cologne in the back of used cars. The honeysuckle rose will rise and choke the railroad bridge. Another dandelion will blow its wishes past the junkyard.
This the nightmare-dream, floating there embryonic against the rubble of her body.
Gone the idyll, gone the month of June. Gone the Father, gone the everything. The redbird will not return.

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