I Wait With Bated Breath For C Cure T Clarence
I wait with bated breath for... C. Cure T. Clarence
The following crafted
approximately midway
into the administration
of forty fifth president,
whose crass, gutsy, lewd,
repulsive yawping finds
him squarely poised to
nab the nomination as
Republican front runner
come the 2024 election.
The overstuffed ego freezer
(yes him with the coiffed
windblown hair has been making,
sans daily) regular appearance
in the news oval
hate gambling arrogance
vis a vis spewing,
shouting, and scathing rabidly
foaming explosive handy
claptrap in ascendance,
asserting how incredibly
tremendous collusion between
CIA, FBI and media
(must warrants revocation,
hence heroic intervention,
and emergency das
Pence sing balance
of security fabled
clearances Aesop - Asap)
hounds engaged "brilliance"
in (community) chance
of making an very
usual fool of himself,
viz the "FAKE"
trumpeting dapper Don
expostulating the latest ploy,
raging against the machine
i.e. entire popular culture
will get their comeuppance
being so freely outspoken,
a disgraceful unconstitutional defiance
which oh press
sieve act of deviance
spluttered, thus an extreme
measure to clamp down
on all news outlets,
and immediate disappearance
all the while poor
Melania stoically, objectionably
and lamentably stands
right alongside him,
(nonetheless nonverbally
metaphorically exhibiting
vitriolic livid rage)
as he rancorously spouts
(ala VERY) convincing impression
of la va reenactment qua,
Krakatoa volcanic disturbance
lambasting utter disgraceful disservice
(foxy Dis Putin
commercial stations construe, conspire,
conjure egregious collusion
outlets asper dominance
a pugilistic ringside fan loathsomely
(re: scowling non verbally),
wherein pejorative spectators whether
(moral less minority, and/or
majority whips lashing) weather being
subsequently splashed by
LXXII spittle aged
perspiring ogre) with exuberance
(like some voodoo freelance
sing hexed indigo gurl goo goo doll,
a villainous venal mummified
rattle trap declaring forbiddance
from this moment forward grievance
fomented by via triple threat
to American democracy
sans, intransigence, insouciance, ignorance,
thus taking recourse upon the heads
of "stupid" journalists forcing hand
toward "losers" who spread lies,
hence president signs issuance
analogous to lance
sing (via strong trumpeting arm),
a yuge bigly boil saying believe me
(meaning him - moron in chief)
asseverating the congressional,
global, and orbital
bulwark acting with noncompliance
necessitating entire military
industrial complex arsenal
heavily reinforced (at
the expense of every social,
governmental, environmental, etc cetera
to manage unruly populace
with mandatory diktat decreeing obeisance
with non dodging demagoguery
huff ford ding auto-da-fé fiat ordinance
this platform to guarantee overdominance,
when November 2020 election
for forty sixth president
takes place with poignance
when courtesy hindsight
transition to Biden administration
punctuated by insurrection.
When I witnessed capital one rebellion
slack jaw froze mine countenance
when eyes blinded with figurative
daggers asper mistakes in original draft,
hence...this flood proof, fire resistant,
and fever reducing error free version.
Yes...yes...yes, this rhyme
resembles a recent one of mine
from a previous time,
yet appropriating wands zone writing
haint no crime -
at least not yet.
Okay bull heave me you,
at this moment
alm completely unaware
what the a muse zing
genie of poetic
inspiration will bring
possibly shelving what Calliope
holds in store for me,
meanwhile now
with impatience itching
visa vis to discover
what this Earthling,
(albeit modest) will be amazingly
graced with pizazz, meanwhile aye fling
haphazardly, indiscriminately,
and jocosely blitz
krieg feebly attempting
to contrive ingeniousness emits
poetic prestidigitation in fits
and starts, sans "FAKE" wits
as this humble
human imperceptibly orbitz
around mister Sun,
(which about bajillion years
from now suddenly quits)
shining foisting misery,
where Nyx knocks
(paddy whack give
my dog a bone...) divinely,
knowingly and spiritedly visits
(believe me you) this trumpeting
stupid moron loser
forever doth taint
after this moment
(no need tubby saint
lee and suppress any quaint
gut wrenching chortle)
at what ain't
no farce), nor literary feint
yours truly painfully,
sorrowfully, and verily avers,
he now lacks fire and fury
(as if nettled and docked by burrs)
nonetheless, which ambition
dust hanker mink thinks furs,
and foremost (Tom
morrow i.e. purrs
sues tha owl mighty,
where fame posthumously spurs
me amidst pantheon
of great writers
which dream dashed
into a million,
(no...no...no...not
bajillion this instance,
though good guess) pieces
abysmal silence replacing
(palimpsest like),
mine over active imagination whirs.
Copyright ©
Matthew Harris
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