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Travis Dixon Oct 2017
With that incredible brain in his skull,
he drags this country through the mud
like a child drags his blanket.
His enormous, mighty hands grasp
impetuously at his phone to plop out
****-like tweets to his army of bots.
That statuesque frame, upon which his ill-fitting
cheap suits drool down, stumbles around courses
in search of new ways to lie about his lies.
And his striking eyes, squint and squirrel away the truth,
deep in the soul of his heart, which is bigly, and grate (we know).
Oh, we know, Donald. We know. It’s hard to ignore
such an enormous heart as yours. So big indeed,
that this country needs to get out from under its weight
before the inevitable cardiac arrest. It’s a democratic test,
while the Feds investigate all the best people
hired to sell off this country’s assets
to net the richest more riches.
Travis Dixon Jan 2017
toys here,
get your toys here
but just don’t share
or you won’t be gettin’
no toys here
get your toys here
better than last year’s
but don’t criticize, otherwise
you won’t be gettin’
toys here
get your toys here
free to play
all night and day
but we gotta say
you’ll pay to play
or we’ll take away
your toys here
get your toys here
brand new in box
don’t mind the fox
just watchin’ all the
toys here
get your toys here
because our toys hear
everything you fear
but we won’t leer
as long as you
get your toys here
get your toys here
Travis Dixon Nov 2016
America, rollin’ its dice,
hurlin’ ‘nades on the ice.
what're we lookin’ for?
who’re we huntin’ for?
whether it’s a score to settle
or another lie to peddle
where do we go from here?
how ‘bout that future we held dear?
gone, done, buried, shunned.
eat crow, *****, retch, and—
run?
don’t run. can’t run.
these colors don’t run, I’ve heard.
though maybe they flow against
each other like water and
oil in a grating chemical fash-
ion that can’t be calculated
or be sufficiently integrated
like we dreamed they would.
and dream we do, for America
and her future, or so I hope,
given that each year that passes
leaves bruises and gashes
in that fabric, so fragile, I hear.
sad, wrong, and crooked;
Trump’s America.
Edit (11/30/16): I want to be clear that I oppose everything Trump stands for. This man is a threat to democracy. This poem was my reaction to the election, and the lies he sold to his supporters.
Travis Dixon Jun 2014
Now
Now grows,
absorbing excess saturation,
conforming nonplussed confirmations.

Now rises in a balloon
tied to our hearts—stretching,
brimming with the gloss of life.

Now rushes from the mountain
over the great falls, into the valley,
with or without us.
Travis Dixon May 2014
Life is love
or a lack thereof,
but more often both
flowing every which way,
but rarely the way
we wish it would.
Travis Dixon Feb 2014
right to the core of a problem
that refuses to be solved,
defying absolution like
time against our wishes
sending the whole **** plane
into a tailspin—
around and around and around
like the whirlwinds of history’s echo
channeled through muffled ears—
nowhere to go, no way to
think your way out of a past
that clings to your back, claws
digging and steadfast, digging
for answers, for resolution—
some kind of ablution,
so the everyday gnawing
may cease to be—might, perhaps
let us be present without
past tense.
Travis Dixon Jun 2013
Smoke seethes chest high
atop the cellar stairs
of a dingy corner pub
as the night’s end
rattles and races to the bottom
shattering aside
the steaming head of a man
whose wife drank enough
liquor that night to know
she had enough of his ****
to fill a grave.
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