Fox dreams of star trails,

Problem with drinking the Kool-Aid,
no matter what flavor it is,
someone’s spiked it.

Handing you bile, vitriol,
and trying to convince
it’s good for you.

That’s where they’ll keep you, drugged,
drunk on the lies spun in your cup
so thick you can’t get a straw in.

There’s nothing I can do
until you admit there’s a problem.

the dinner crowd,
always loud,
paying little attention 
to the folksinger

she played with
Travis picking
and sang in
her plain-spoken
way

never a paying gig,
never more than
a couple bucks
in the tip jar,
she wondered, again,
why am I here

stories of singers
in some dim Nashville
bar hitting the big time
were bullshit made up
by record companies
trying to create buzz

thumb keeping the beat,
two fingers, picking out melodies,
her voice, a counterpoint,
sweet and thin

lots of couples tonight,
leaning toward one another
over small Formica tables,
hopeful smiles on their faces

the folksinger was like
the peeling wallpaper–
a few passing glances, 
but none bothered to notice
the pretty wildflowers
on the paper or
in her heart

one more song,
her favorite,
turn off the amp,
guitar in the case,
three dollars in the jar,
long walk home

she stoically clenches her teeth
into the soft skin inside her cheek
warm blood seeps from tween her lips 

he uses his thumb to firmly wipe
the ruby stream from her chin
slowly brushes her hair from her eyes

The interstate is lonely 
we drive for hours 
Nearly silent 
the radio buzzes
static 
I’m going home again 

A found poem inspired by a collection of poetry about love

Be patient

trust

my bright & hardy stalks
  of protea

No one believes in you
  like I do.

listen

All the men in my line are instinctually stoic &
  Hidden

and yes, I want to help you shoot the moon

to interpret

This isn’t the only history,
  but is the history of everything

What did I know, what did I know
  of love’s austere and lonely offices

no one told us

the reasons why our marriage
  might work

not knowing where it might end up

Together
  we eat this earth

We sing of our respect

It comes down again to polarities,
  equilibrium. Evening.

Each time

your stresses are sustained and daily

these are exactly the times

to drag out the whole galaxy
  of endearments

Because your heart beats to your breath

Remind me

of wonders, of great
  and ordinary loves,

Tell me
  everything you know, you don’t

Happiness costs so little
  for those who are willing to

live like this

joy is sneaking around
popping her head out
revealing herself in subtleties
I almost wish she was on vacation
or away on some long work trip
so that I do not have to pander to her tiny niceties
I want to dive deep into the realms of despair
silly, right?
who says that, much less desires
maybe I want the sadness to envelope me because
well, then someone would tell me what I must do
and then I would have no other considerations or decisions
just accept and head upward
the deal though, is that now
I want to create something new, fresh, my own
manifest?
isn’t that what it’s labeled now?
I tell myself that word is for those who have
     wealthy dads or wealthy husbands
     money saved in droves
     or other means which afford them
     a boost
though that’s an excuse, I know
     where there’s a will
     I’m still standing
     it’s not too late
all messages the Universe yells through the clouds
loud enough I hear, take in, and ponder
     it’s hot yet there’s a breeze
     I’m tired but will find a way

True heroes don’t wear capes.
You don’t see them in masks,
or colorful bodysuits.

The real heroes have friendly faces,
open hearts and soothing words.
They are human like you and me.

In the darkest storms they call you,
out of the blue on a day you’d rather die.
They tell you to get on the fucking bus,
and go to their homes.

Only for the sole purpose of them feeding you.

True heroes are brothers, 
who refuse to take no for an answer,
in times of need.

Five year old 
Hunkered down 
Between the old black travel trunk
And the beige wall paper 
With pink roses

Her dad
Beat her 
Over the head and shoulders
With a black razor strap

Until 
Grandpa said,
“That is enough.”

Sitting in my study
Book in hand
Number the Stars
by Lois Lowry
Newberry Medal winner
she reads to me
about a Danish family
hiding a Jewish girl
from the Nazis
I’ll finish this book
she says
It’s an important book
Not even 12
though she knows
she must start
her lifelong study
of just how hateful
the world can be