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  Dec 2016 Ju Clear
Àŧùl
Shouldn't we make all the politicians,
Famous or not first bear as prerequisite,
Bear the mandatory minimum sentences?

It'll be really revolutionary for the civility,
For it could be revolutionized - the polity,
Won't it narrow down the differences?
HP Poem #1176
©Atul Kaushal
  Dec 2016 Ju Clear
RJ Days
must recognize our Form
in the mirror,
see our Face, and make our reflection
as we kiss it, though it regularly sickens
Us.

I

We are still Us, though
that probably means little if it ever did;

We have been amended beyond recognition
from centuries of lobbing
off limbs, appendages, stitching clauses
like bandages then forgetting about them
if we ever shower,
disfiguring the pale torso of our Body
politic, naked and middling before posterity
grotesque genitalia dangling
hopelessly, and useless
between marble columns
unable to unite in congress assembled
erasing pluribus unum;

We're our Legs, buckling under obscene weight
now cloture’s invoked, the question ordered
on history with yays and nays,
discourse long reduced to the nuances
of blusterfuck;

We're our Buttocks, passing gas
bills, denying a snowball’s chance of
melting in frozen hell or on house floor,
and our Brain, lobotomized
better half yearning “Yes, we Can…
…ada” beckoning the coasts, blue dots
on blue dot ever browning;

We're our Fists, clenching gavels
while advising Mother Earth to **** up
because even without her consent,
reality’s adjourned;

II

We're our Skin—yes, our Skin—, thin-
ly veiling contempt insufficiently concealed
by layers of spray tan and unmarred
by blood sweat tears of our foremothers
and our Brow, not sweating more perfect
when it's so easy to turn and follow storybook greatness,
when our Fingers, callused from tweeting
Little Bits of *****,
which though once again retitled
and re-released, remains a classic,
completely unrevised;

We're our Ears, nostalgic for the crack of doom
and we're our Tiny Hands, unable to help themselves
from popping a Tic-Tac and grabbing
onto those titillating, dusty buttons
on the hydrogen jukebox;

We're our Eyes, heavy
as a defeated queen
with makeup running, blessing us
all for this operant foray into madness,
ever observing how our Arms, which
(torches now extinguished)
flail in confusion amid incalculable darkness
still hoist our pitchforks low and
our Tongue still grievously petitions
for more deplorable words amid
hallucinations of victimhood;

We're our *****, *******
on progress, except
which—failing to rise to the occasion—
nonetheless manages
to flop over and strike once more: a dis-
chord in common defense of
fragile white male privilege
always showing, never growing,
general welfare and tranquility flushed down
the toiletbowl of history
hoping those old turds never
resurface, still ignoring the stench of injustice
and the chipping of gilded porcelain;

We’re our Lips–which neither Broadway hits nor
newspaper clips nor high minded pleas alarmed,
and with Dr. Franklin’s warning notwithstanding–
We are our Lips on treacherous steps which will be
all executive power herein vesting;

III

We're our Palms, grasping rope amid air
saturated in deathly vespers, which tugs
down-up toward unearned heavens;

We’re our *****, pretending to be
our Mouths which chide & otherize, while
our Shins expose their cuts to ****,
bullet-holes welcoming the swift infections
in what dank sewage now pours from open
Overton windows, broken along with
any pretense of civility; ultimately,
the only thing we could shatter;

We’re our Holes, shamefully enjoying
the prodding and poking caresses
of anarchy, be-
moaning un-
Equal Protection law & order bestows,
depriving life, liberty, property
when our Hearts, weary of
the long hard due process, supremely
malign centuries’ holdings;

We’re our Immunity, sovereign it be
fighting all insults foreign and domestic
and our Voices rising in lamentation
for what we’ve lost and what we’ve barely kept;

We’re even our Hair, unkempt, distracting us
from enduring corruption of our Blood;

We’re our *****, too. No, never mind.
We never had any. But She did,
and class despite the strength
of glass;

IV

We’re all that still, and our Souls'
politic too, fractured much asking
what Un-
ited States we’re in;
September 17, 1787 – November 8, 2016. Not a bad run, I guess.
  Dec 2016 Ju Clear
Mike Hauser
When it's all said and done
When it rolls around next
Think I'll make a run
For president

From the fiasco I've seen
From Trump and Hillary
They both made it look
Rather easy

I'll promise them this
While giving them that
And never admit
When I leave out the facts

I'll wear an American flag pin
So I'm not penned communist
While promising that
And giving them this

I'll scream at some
At the top of my lungs
And when asked of my past
I'll play it dumb

I will promise to free
Those in poverty
If they would just kindly
Give a donation to me

I will shake all the babies
And kiss a few hands
Wait...can I have a do over
On what I just said?

I will kiss all the babies
And shake a few hands
There...that's more like it
**** you auto correct!

I'll promise it all
Without skipping a beat
The straights will say Yay
While the gays dance in the street

I'll perfect the one liners
Like, it's the economy stupid
Then ship jobs to China
When no one is looking

When asked what I've done
I'll avoid the question
Until eyes start to glaze
And boredom sets in

I'll go to war
If one need be fought
Or take out a loan
If peace can be bought

So in another four years
When all this goes bad
The run for president
I'll throw in my hat

Cause if it can be done
By Hillary or Trump
Then it can be done
By most anyone
  Nov 2016 Ju Clear
Sam Temple
~



each step
      purposeful
                
no longer can discontent rule
                 when that has become the norm
                             we must remember
                                    unity

promises coated in smelly swamp mud
                         lay disheveled after spoken

no one is expected to remember
                 words carry meaning

it seems I have been cursed
             with an inability to forget   /
Ju Clear Nov 2016
Mr president
I have a conflict of interest
I am not keen on how you go about your business
I am saddened by your big banking boys with roles
I am not sure you can run the US like a business
I feel more empathy is required

Mr president
Am still conflicted with your reign
Not over joyed by your chosen minions rolling in billions
Having money don't mean you know how to govern

Mr president
For me too take you seriously I feel you should liquidate your assets
Invest in the bottom
So all can be on top
Be kind
Give it away
you have another holiday
Put kindness in charge
Make America kind again
Kindness rules
Listening to the 5 pm news while cooking Mexican food
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