The Donald
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So much of what is frothy babble
is laid before us as a truth when in truth
it is but frothy babble.
Each shiny coin newly mined and minted
with a fragrance green as the grasses
passes for a personage we would gather.
Coins as friends,
Ends justifying means,
The aftermath of fruitful beans.
Upon a curved light borne
he hones his friendships
as slivers of glass.
Reflections all so tall
and all so disavowed;
nor allowed the looser noose
of the absolute.
What is that fragrance passing
for a freedom.
What is that passing need
as the world turns,
as the days of our lives burn,
as we move as one multitude
beneath a blanket of toes
with our noses wrapped.
Worrying, scurrying for
the last scrap of paper
on which is printed not
a single famous image
but is destined
to carry our waste.
Copyright © Vernon Witmer | Year Posted 2020
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