I have seen 
the kind of 
American poor that 
nobody should see
I have lived 
that kind too
as an adult 
the despair kind
the hopeless kind 
the end of 
the line kind 
and its taught 
me that kind
of hard humility 
the kind where
nobody ever laughs 
and most look
away the deep 
and hollow kind
the hard and 
cold kind that 
never warms up 
I have seen 
and I’ve lived 
and I’ve learned 

Sometimes words don’t 
come so I 
don my boots
and head upstream 
looking for whatever 
is jamming up 
the flow logs
of pain limbs
of despair or
perhaps the wellspring 
of my wellbeing 
has run dry
there it is 
rock of happiness 
let loose from 
its peaceful mountain 
and lodged itself 
at the mouth 
do I dare
to dislodge it 
to dislocate and 
disturb or leave 
it be I
and mine behind 

Far from here
and from home 
red light blinks
whether come hither
or stop or
maybe stay away 
I don’t know 
but on and
off it goes 
a beacon warning 
saying make way 
and make sure 
that you know 
I am here 
whilst you’re there 
just like the 
sirens of love 

My heart breaks 
not for myself 
in this age 
of scarcity whose 
roots began in
selfishness and greed 
it’s more important 
now than ever 
to practice love 
through kindness empathy 
and compassion because 
being genuine generous 
and grateful does 
more for the 
human spirit than 
hate can accomplish 

I thought sleep 
would quiet me 
but then dreams 
they reminded me 
of those things 
that I’d put 
deep into the 
basement of soul
and percolating up 
like bones buried 
for years barely 
recognizable but unearthed 
rising up to 
again be seen 
ghosts of a 
time gone by