Her online dating profile said she was "Outdoorsy".
She asked if I wanted to go camping.
I told her, "No, I'm done camping."
I spent enough years sleeping outside,
and even more sleeping in the dirt.
It wasn't all bad.

I got to sleep with the stars and wake up with the sun.
once I woke up in the middle of a circle of deer.
I opened my eyes and the fawn looked at me, and I smiled.
She nodded at me, I swear to god she did.
Then she nudged her little ones awake, and they went off to find another spot so I could get ready for the day.

I've encountered ghosts along the rivers, and thieves among their banks.
I've never successfully started a fire without the aid of Gasoline,
    and it cost me the title of King of the Hobos one year.
Even as a homeless guy, I was mediocre.
I'm good at some things though.
I have references, I told her.

The next day, she deleted me from her favorites list.

We were good to each other,
We were not good for each other.

The red-headed gypsy in thrift store Gucci.
We shared the same exact starting point in life.
We were born at the same time, on the same date, under the same sun,
     with the same red hair.
We both carry with us, a mischievous grin.
She danced off the stage and into my heart, and I keep her there today.
We are good to each other.
We were not good for each other.

A fair haired Feline, who was fairly forgetful to boot.
Not someone I will ever forget.
I chased her to the ends of the earth, and then chased her off.
As though on a walk with Robert Frost, A fork appeared in the road.
She broke up with me, because I had already left.
We were very good to each other,
We were not good for each other.

A mocha-skinned beauty, who stole my heart for the better half of a
     decade.
Our hearts fled to each other, while our bodies ran away.
On freight trains, in pirate caves, and under bridges,
    the winds carried her kisses to me.
She's just as crazy as I am.
We are very good to each other.
We are not good for each other.

And yet...I think of her all the time.

A mother is still crying in Ferguson, Missouri tonight.
There's no media coverage though.
They are all in Charleston.
Tomorrow, they will be somewhere else.
Once the cameras get turned off, and the microphones put away,
      the story does not end.
There is still a father crying in Ferguson, Missouri tonight.

There are children crying in Minneapolis tonight.
There are dozens of young children walking
      the hallways of their school, and searching
        for a man that will never walk them again.
There are still tears in Minneapolis tonight.

There are smoke and tears in Charleston tonight,
There is rage and exposed indignity.
There is corruption, and a systemic virus that
    we all pretended was over on July 2nd, 1964.
The fight is not over.
But tomorrow, the cameras will be gone, and there will still be tears,
     in Charleston.

With so many tears, it's amazing the entire establishment hasn't just
      been washed away, by a salt-water flood.

One of the worst parts about post 9/11 airports is you can't meet your lovers at the gates anymore.
You can't run off a plane and embrace with a kiss like two poor folks who never went to etiquette school.
The kind of kiss that is more like two faces punching each other.
The kind of kiss that has traveled a thousand miles in bated anticipation.
We shuffle off the plane and head to the baggage claim.
The kids behind me were born after 9/11.
They will never understand Richard Gere and Julia Roberts brand of love.
A love where nothing else mattered but getting back into each other's arms.
That love is gone.  
We have to go through security first.
Take off your shoes, check your liver for spots, and make sure you aren't
    carrying anyone else's luggage.
Loose lips, sink ships.
Don't say anything that might give aid to the enemy.
Everyone has to make sacrifices.
Your love comes second.