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The Trumpoet Feb 2017
A tweet sent out at three A.M.
Another misspelled rant,
with sketchy claims so full of blame,
your trumpists, you enchant.

So little thought before you type,
no need to check or vet
your message with the experts
or with your own cabinet.

You cannot stop nor help yourself,
because you are no quitter.
Like some half-wit, having a fit.
The greatest twit on Twitter.
You can also see this and my other Trump poems at: www.trumpoet.com
Link to video of this poem: https://youtu.be/No_4p_l_8-g
Written January 17, 2016
Conor Letham Apr 2014
Looking out to the sea,
there is art in the white,
frothing rinds like billows
of chalk softly skimming
each wave, or in the dark
blue of a day-old swelling
stretched across jelly skin
like spread blueberry jam,
or maybe in the bright red
jacket you wear, your hair
held to your face as you
grin like an absolute twit,
small fingers gripping on
to the rails as you peer over,
and in my grin is my reply
because I love you for it.
Soul Scalpel Apr 2014
So,
I see you're back from a little trip,
using daddy's  AMEX out at Abby&Fitch.;

You're a slave to fashion and intolerable twit.
That blouse would look better
on a bag of ****.

— The End —