Train
died yesterday morning. Prostate Cancer. I saw this in his eyes and body a year ago or
more. When he still thought he had a
stomach virus, and wouldn’t go to the doctor.
He worked as an auto mechanic, and wrote his poems on the side. Turns out he wouldn’t go to the doctor because he had no health
insurance and didn’t have the money to pay a doctor. Then it was too late. He was 54.
Here is what he looked like when I first met him, which was in the Spring of 2011:
Here is what he looked like last summer:
One of his poems:
PORCH
When on the Porch at any Sunset
I do not think of what I am missing
These floorboards may leak in a hard rain
Cracked paint of hand railings expose the Original
My Silver garage roof rusty orange, blends West
Clouds choose How and When to reveal their Mood
This pen chooses what to write
I think of what to say, In this sudden night.
TR 6-2-10
When on the Porch at any Sunset
I do not think of what I am missing
These floorboards may leak in a hard rain
Cracked paint of hand railings expose the Original
My Silver garage roof rusty orange, blends West
Clouds choose How and When to reveal their Mood
This pen chooses what to write
I think of what to say, In this sudden night.
TR 6-2-10
photo he took:
another poem of his:
RECOGNITO
We Are Poets
Experienced
Times of Our Lives
Fill Our Vessels
So We May Pour
Latent Context
Into Present
Onto The Page
One Truth Spills Out
Over Our Brims
All Life Is One
Found in God's Grin
TR 2-9-14
We Are Poets
Experienced
Times of Our Lives
Fill Our Vessels
So We May Pour
Latent Context
Into Present
Onto The Page
One Truth Spills Out
Over Our Brims
All Life Is One
Found in God's Grin
TR 2-9-14
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