—for Johnny Cash Early one Sunday morning, razor burn like abrasions on the A-side: “Revelations” in the guitar hitch. Still slatting gospel with railroad ties. Still spitting half-stains as if they were creeks out where even the cactuses get thirsty. Juarez: you’re all wood & wire, cross stitched like a longhorn’s horns. The B-side locomoting from here to no-self-control like a box car hopping the tracks with sterno cups instead of wheels. Like claim jumpers hopping the potter’s ground. You sang they put me on a train & took me back in a voice that split the crank pin, loosed ribbon from the Good Book. You wore black half a life. Your joints disjointed like a drunk’s story. You played guitar strings like they were a convict’s pinstripes turned out of their black & white minds.