graveyard train

graveyard train
by Travis Catsull

it was a long, blue complaint
that caused her death

her tombstone moved
towards some pearl, alone

i had the ocean
all on me

the complaint that caused her death
got stuck in an elevator last nite

some pearl


caused the corn to sweeten

near the river

i’m # 31

scream that
when you lay down
for a quick nap
behind the corn

misfortune oft
surprises my wooden leg
when i approach the greyhound
to take off my layer of moonlight

during the trip
her teeth dug a millimeter
into the crayon creature
and stuttered a human foot
or so

a claw tub of new beach shovels shine

gideon comes
to drink to my health
in an RV park

the wind
blows ones
at our wild lilies
as we append the hound
to the wept and prayed
still left and half sad

urban poverty: snort some

just go on ahead

i got a list of people
behind my right eye

i got a harmonica lifted
and when the cops came
to drag me off the table
in tahoe
i just kept on playing
and they finally just said,
“let him keep playing and everyone
else stop stomping on the floor.
they’ve got kids down there.”

kids show up
to steal a few 9 volts with kite string

it can make a man’s tears flow
3 inches or more
at some parking lot kiss
in a mid-summer dress
above peerless beauty
with pretty gestures
like a bird
gently washing it’s bad leg
in a mud puddle

we are just that


and saving it

for what

and for what

i just don’t

want to know

1 thought on “graveyard train

  1. Thing is about this poem, it connects; although it seems disconnected, you can see the poet’s mind making the associations: “death,” “tombstone;” “long blue complaint,” “ocean;” “pearl,” “pearl;” “corn,” “corn;” “wooden leg,” “stuttered a human foot or so,” “bad leg;” “greyhound,” “hound;” “harmonica,” “let him keep playing;” “kids,” “kids.” It begins with death and ends with a question of what life means, and in between it’s like a skeleton for us to put together. I think it’s about poetry (“it can make a man’s tears flow…at some parking lot kiss in a mid-summer dress”) or at least about making a life “just that unique and saving it for what” the poet chooses not to contemplate; it just has to be done, or keeps on happening.

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