THERE ARE ORDINARY THINGS UNDER THE SUN
BUT DONALD TRUMP IS NOT ONE
Let us speak of ordinary things
Such as Thracian wars and ascendancy of kings
Consulting Greek writers of the Second Sophistic
Might provide insight that must be intrinsic
Then we can move to the more mundane
Asia Minor's thousand gods might help to explain
Why there continues a lack of wisdom and intelligence
Which is sine qua non for a paucity of eptness
These virtues are lacking in one who purdures to astound
How a gasbag of hot air can remain earthbound
He retains characteristics of cosmic black holes
Knowledge falls in but where it goes no one knows
Human is a grave
a waiting room
shadow in the corridor
forgotten being
fragile tongue
here
Loneliness.
Silence.
Human is a grave,
dash in a distance,
gasbag hold together by gravity
And when the machines are counting
the end of the world,
let's dance.
gasbag loci.
Visions and wishes flow
through us.
Time terminates
at the point of our eyes.
We are
heavy with circuits,
gravitas like
digital machines.
We don't realize
how much we count.
We draw high prices.
Yet we
revolve around each other
as if we were stones.
It is so cold
I feel
Like
A robot
Stove
No
Warm
Me
With
My old
War surplus
Gasbag
Viet Nam
Pants
Pulled
Over
My
Jeans
My
Body
Wants
Sex
My
Mind
Wants
Friends
Cooling
Already
To
A compromise
The
Inflatable
Santa
Next
Door
Just
Collapsed
Car
Screeching
Away
Ha
Ha
No
Point
In
Putting
Up
Those
Christmas
Lights
Tomorrow
Is there
it
Is
Raining
And
I
Miss
Carol
She
Gave
Me
The
Pants
After a
Protest
When
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