anniversary

Going for the Throat

crazy this mourning for you
that your death could be more real
than any living here.
even in these carpeted rooms
cups lined with the thickest liquor
books thick&sagging in their shelves
even with all my confidence
that the thick line
of her German thigh
will remain on
the green velour
sofa
and I have finally won her smile,
I will have to cut
out back
beneath the eaves
smoke one while looking up
to see the
October
moon
cleaving the summer away
knowing you now
better than me
making the entirety of it all
threadbare
baser than the most wicked
poverty
wiser than
the highest crown-
this is harvest, this is anniversary.
were I to
rake the loam with your hands
were I to truly
surrender
as you have
then I would hear them, too
I would hear them all
and know at once
how strange
is this mortality,

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-for Sarah Marshall

she could feel the sunlight paling
knew that all her doctors were wrong
she pulled into the drive and called me
and we talked in cold dusk, like that holding on
“I’m soft as green veins of the houseplants, Charlie”
she said
“the weekend’s are too short but
bliss always is.”
untangled we were edging out
into the dark waters
of our own separate lives
she in the drive
and me up in the high rooms
the Fall cleaving, night growing
old pain getting wise
“your desperation will born you out
and your tiny houselights do shine
they
call to me across the wasteland,
Primrose.
Just laugh until you cry
cry until you laugh,
Tuesday’s the toughest
but Wednesday’s like Friday
in my mind.”
and that was it, was
all it took
she’d dream sweetly
and
my nightmares would only
laugh until they cried.

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A post shared by Jim Trainer (@goingforthethroat) on Oct 15, 2014 at 1:08pm PDT

Sometimes a Wild God

Coyopa : words by Tom Hirons

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.
He is awkward and does not know the ways
Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.
His voice makes vinegar from wine.

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