Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

Sonnet #131

The thing that drives me nuts is not the winner, but

The things that come from mouths of supporters
The bluster and lies that baffles reporters
I've yet to hear coherent, plotted out policy, thoughts
Just tumble around a few oddities, like a country back
Win our country back, bring our jobs back, but
But, but, how, exactly? There is no plan, just
Bluster and anger and wringing tiny hands, Track
Any truth of the matter, you'll see, the lies they tell
That will not be lost to history. We planted seeds
in a garden we would never see, but we need
To know the price we ask of history. The bell
we wrung can't be unwrung. The white supremacy
The circling wagons of failed ideologies lacking in policies.

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