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Travis Dixon Jul 15
we're dead
wrong--deadly
throngs, heading
for death--& long-
itude & latitude's
gone; hope to hope to
hope again; carried
on wind, waves; ferried
in mind; waves, long-
ing kind waves;
shall we find ways
to not be dead
wrong? are the days
too short or two longs
repeating too loudly?
too proudly? too cloudly?
but Earth sang songs long
ago; She sings again,
bellowing: you're deadly
wrong.
Travis Dixon Apr 23
the architecture of truth falls flat
against the flourish of surrounding lies,
sparkling and glinting in the light,
drawing our gaze and jutting
their corners into compositions,
casting shadows across the truth below.

but the shoddy foundations of lies
are prone to failure and no matter
how fashionable or stylish,
time will reduce them to dust,
claiming those within their walls,
while the foundations of truth endure
time's assault like tardigrades
in the vacuum of space.

so the market of falsehoods grows,
ever eager
to keep the truth
from being bought
for as long
as possible--
let alone believed.
Travis Dixon Apr 2
Wash your hands / Don't touch your face
Touch your face / Touch your face
Wash your hands / Don't touch your face / or face corona

(sing in the tune of London Bridge is Falling Down)
Travis Dixon Aug 2019
one above another
seeking power beyond
Mother, Father, God;
three of a kind
trolled into a full house
to douse the criers with
gaslighting and rhetoric:
"make America hectic";
painting the targets brightly
through the sights of terrorists
sowing blight in the name of
white, white, white
power, money, ***
insecure, bored, loathing--
guns, roaming
thoughts, looming large
online, in hot spots
traffic's booming,
grooming a genocide
that hides in
plain sight
Travis Dixon Feb 2019
the white race, paunched,
couched in lazy righteousness
steeped in knee-**** fright of us--
terrified by the sight of
our history of shamefulness
in every passing headline
and obit crossing the line
that makes the deadline,
day by deadly day
due to the arrogance of men
who refuse to even listen
to the obvious injustice
pouring since i don't know when--

our nation's deepest wound
forever reopened to bleed again
and again
and again
and again
Travis Dixon Jan 2019
a map of skulls and souls
reaped along routes of trade
a rat burrows into the demon's pen
of blissful greed and greed-
ing ignorance agreeing with
mindlessness, taken to com-
plying with heartlessness
shaved with soul-
lessness
into an empty machine--
a killing being
sentient of nothing but
blood battered faces and clean
of all graces--
a sweet decay of inhabitable spaces
do the animals care?
we decide for them
the discussion unheard, buried
in a coffin of laughing reproach
nailed shut, impaled
with ifs, ands, and buts,
but--
what if we didn't?
Travis Dixon May 2018
the new cues wear
old shoes that tear
so quick, but stick
like tar to faces,
tongue-tied by laces
pulled through lungs
that lie in vats
of acidic pride;
how far will they run?
how fast will they stride?
but the questions fall again
between gasps for oxygen
as carbon dioxide
and nitrogen
fill the void;
such are the old shoes,
always outlasting
their feet.
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