Monday, January 23, 2017

All he can see is himself

He doesn't speak for me.
His tremendous words of emptiness
And pat-yourself-on-the-back rhetoric
Only inspire me to fill my life with substance
By reaching out, speaking out, carving out
A safe place. Yes, a safe place.

He doesn't act for me.
His thumbs-up, smile-and-wave gimmick
Will be met with my kitten-throated roar
Because ideas that belittle are little
No matter how winningly, bigly, and hugely terrific
They tell us they are. Yes, they tell us they are.

Oh say, what is truth?
His alternative truth: glass diamonds
Fool's gold, smoke-and-mirror stylized lies.
Trumpet-played puppets aren't out to spin facts.
It's a bald-faced attack, a normalization of the death
Of liberty and justice for all. Yes, for all.

Oh say, can't you see?
This is bigger than me/you/she/he/xe/it or them.
We're all on this plane but the pilot can't fly!
He's at the controls but he has no window.
His cockpit is covered in spit-polished gold
And all he can see is himself.
Yes, all he can see is himself.

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