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She Stood Motionless
and all in black . . .
Blending into the background
like stage décor, like an urn
an exquisitely etched shitter
skillfully shielding her eyes
no camera could reveal realness
only dark shadowy nuance
strikingly death predictive
many couldn’t help but notice
a curious first lady façade
her frosty cheshire grin
threatening to crackle icily
no doubt, hearts will cackle
we’re all stuck in this eddy now
swirling her turd-filled potty
of superb high pretense.
Toilet-bowl drunk
on toxic masculinity
I’ve worn that very mask
Melania’s Mélange
craving the trappings
I thought I couldn’t live without
I pledged my allegiance
to the blighted penises of ‘murca
oh ‘murca the beee-you-tee-full.
Look at them all beaming
that shitfaced grin of deference
acting as though it’s a pleasure
to choke on a flaccid…