Though the chemical gas was a fable,
rebel terror we’ll arm and enable;
we will kick their Assad
with some help from Mossad
and create something TRULY unstable.

Little victims, all Syrian-bred
look pathetic: so small, nearly dead.
Lack of documentation
won’t dampen our nation;
from YouTube to bombing we’re led.

War-hawks pause for no burden of proof.
Show a whimpering child and then— **** !
They, rush in, like a fool
using Trump as their tool.
He’s been militarized. What a goof.

to call hard science „fake news“
creates suspicion that this abuse
of hard facts about global warming
is but a shabby adorning
of the power of money
which tastes sweeter than honey
as lobbyists prove every morning

HEAR YE HEAR YE: 
It's a wedding bell for bedding well cause' we're crushin' the illusion of Russian collusion! CNN wets on Russian bedding but Trump bets on Russian wedding, and you're invited to the bridal shower. Punking the monkery, dig the debunkery; from Rasputin to Putin it's time for some straight shootin'. Hillary looks old and glowers at Donald's rumored golden showers. Our media owes US an explanation for streams of steaming urination, but we are willing to forgive and use their wet diapers as debt wipers. My poem's appeal may take a toll, but let its little peal now roll:

******, ****** rings the bell
A Fake News warning; time to spell
out what was wet with Moscow girls.
Putin's putas ?  Wisdom's pearls
were pried from Truth's reluctant shell,
banishing Hillary straight to hell.
None. It's what we want left over
from this hag. We now discover
beds were dry; it all amounted
(all those golden tricks recounted)
to less than a tepid bowl of kasha. . .
Russia laughed from her summer dacha.
InfoWars was on it first
while Dems spun lies from false to worst,
awarding cash for faked dossiers
embellished with the CIA's
well-trained performing circus-seal.
The FBI endorsed the deal
as RINOS horned in on the action:
Washingtonian distraction;
a democrat-concocted fuss—

. . . but we ALL paid Hillary to **** on us.

I am often too hot and too cold at the same time.

But I'd prefer a negative view of myself to a false one every time.

It is a heavy thing to be caught in the gravity of two great cosmic forces. Greatness and obscurity--how they rend the soul caught in their tidal struggle.

Truth and perception how great a chasm between you and how many black bodies have been broken by the Fall to the bottom like a lead-fed whip laying into history's backside laying open our hopes and dreams, exposing love to unseasonable air. It spoils in light obscured by empire's greed.

I can't tell what's real. I don't know how to dress for this.

A torrent gushes from the serpent’s mouth
wave upon breaking wave; it’s ALL fake news
swiftly eroding what is left to lose.
Democracy’s waterlogged corpse drifts south,
a bloated mess; all waters to infuse
with putrefaction, thus to breed disease
uncivil war invades our fantasies;
the polarized extremes now pay their dues.
Propping things up: it’s what they do the best—
business as usual, pawns all occupied
in scaffolding facades upon the West
and sculpting the friezes of fratricide…
but underground, the currents cave away.
Media will fail; God brings a brighter day.