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A true
Banana Republican
he claims
fraudulent results
due to
American intervention
she left her boots
by the door
dying
she killed a piece of me
on that floor
crying
doesn't seem to do any good
not anymore
idling
the day writing
maybe strumming
a few chords
trying
to move through
not past
and my best
not to score
plying
the pages
I'll pen a few lines
and a few lines more
and a few lines more
and a few lines more

because there is no truth
not in ending
not by
the door
There are
corners for
open secrets
as in
a dream

Adolescence
cast
in long
brutal
shadows
by a waning
midday
light

Scents
of bound
whispers
echoing
through
the stacks

The promise
of fantasy
in reality
amid the
fading
week's
end
Another day
trudging a
blistered shitscape
shuffling a
burning hellscape
tripping a
melted fuckscape

Mars or
the 40
there is
no escape
I need
that pay
That's the place
they would wash
their dead
Prepare them
for what comes next
The lands beyond
I guess
Now we drill for it
bottle it
put wells in their
cemeteries
Seems we're
thirsty for their
ghost water
Need a taste
of that
poltergeist pool
Humpty Trumpty
sat on his wall
bleating and blathering,
condemning us all.

"I know the way,
I'm better than you,"
Tweeted he every night
over his golf course view.

"I don't care for Mexicans,
Muslims, and not so much Jews...
Well, at least not the Dems and
those on the 'news'.

I prefer instead those painted orange,
like me,
in fine Italian shoes.

I'm the President now,
I decide if the sky stays blue...
not the the artists or the scientists...
and certainly not you.

I'll make this Country great again!
You'll see, I know what to do!
Put your faith in me, a 'Billionaire'!
I promise, I'll tell you true!"

Hollered he up high,
his chubby fingers crossed,
as his great jowels blubbered,
and his voice quaked with frost.

"I wonder," thought I,
reading his alternate 'facts' of the day,

"Maybe he wouldn't be so grumpy
if his daddy loved him more, or at all,
or maybe, just maybe,
if his fat greedy hands
weren't so
*******
small."
Sent to DJT in his first 100. May it grace the cover of my FBI file, should I have such a file.
Razor tucked in the fixture
base

That and the dull-fluorescent-light
stare me
Dead
in the face

Was it put there just in case?
How did they know to find me here?
In this place?

I guess
it's just another convenience
in another
mini-life-space

Little shampoo for your hair
Little soap for your hands
Little lotion for your skin
Little blade for your sins

and a sink in which to
Erase

All just such
a
convenient
little
Waste
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