by BAR poet in residence Raymond Nat Turner
The Trumpacolypse is indeed a new day, notes our poet in residence, but it's the same old era.
1st 100 Daze
Of Boss Tweet/$cammny Hall
by BAR poet in residence Raymond Nat Turner
Something happened
In the Land of Unknown Knowns,
Hanging chads, hacks, leaks and tweets—
Police state where
Those who know, don’t say—
Those who say, don’t know—
Where figures don’t lie, but liars figure, and
100 retired CEOs pig out on ‘pensions’ of
$253,000.00 a month…
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High-wire work done,
Clutching his Peace Prize,
The Drone Ranger’s rides into the sunset,
saddlebags dripping snake oil, beer and blood—
Bulging with 30 pieces of silver
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Happy Trails to hospitals hit with Hellfires,
Burned babies, dead Muslims, deported Mexicans,
Prosecuted whistleblowers; Happy Trails to habeas corpus, privacy,
Posse Comitatus; and bamboozled Negroz, liberals, labor, leftists—
Left Hopelessly dangling on his warhead…
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Something happened…
Dr. Goebbels blushes at the big tent
Two-ringed circus arriving every 4 yrs—
1% pickpockets working crowds
Distracted by clowns, mules, elephants
Flying false-flags, riding Operation Ball of Confusion
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Something happened—deja vu—
Boss Tweet/$cammny Hall’s 1st 100 days
Looping like 2,920 of The Drone Ranger’s;
416 weeks of W; 96 months of Slick Willy;
4,380 days of Reaganism; gun-smoke clouds,
Rivers of blood—Jackson’s Trail Of Tears—
400 years unabated death; destruction…
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Something happened…
Follow the money—
Not Boss Tweet’s, bully in China shop shtik
Follow the money—
Not claptrap trumped up from his bully pulpit
Follow the money—
‘Draining the swamp’ stocking the cabinet with
Light-fingered fundamentalists, monster green eyes
Fixed on making fruits of our labor their ATM…
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Something happened…
Banksters are baaaaaaaackkk—guns to our heads,
filling their Goldman-Sachs!
“This is a stickup, Too Big To Fail II!”
Will Boss Tweet un-muzzle
Hannibal Lecter generals; select sons of
“Dixie” to “look away” from police murders,
Charge battery-operated Uncle Toms with
converting projects to condos and casinos;
reduce 4th Estate to 3rd Reich re-tweeters,
licking boots—instead of hurling shoes?
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“Lesser evil” luminaries grow Dem;
“Hold your nose” extremists can’t breathe
through openings for organizing, speaking truth to power—
snouts stuck in the mule’s posterior, moving it ‘left’…
Rip Van Winkles are rising from 8 yrs sleep
Wedging Q-tips between their shutters—
First responders, alert as No-Doz washed
down by buckets of black coffee—
Rising, turning Fox-boxes off, silencing phones, games—
Getting Jehovah—going door-to-door,
Meeting more than four corners, speaking of
Striking at the point of production, shutting things down:
Taking over—
We’re still the ones we’ve been waiting for:
Forward!
Raymond Nat Turner © 2016 All Rights Reserved