September Poem 59: Fake News and the Media’s War on Trump

Watch the smoke and breathe in the sizzling crisp

Skin and running fat. Burn into muscle

And scorch the bone about the joke of a

Presidential candidate Donald Trump.

Strike like a hot iron glowing red from

The fire placed against the bare skin of

The lower back. The motherfucker that

Was actually getting elected. Strike

The man held down with a knee to the back

Of his head to steady him. Branded slow

And deep. Not that there is any proof that

President Donald Trump had relations

With his mother or anyone’s mother

As far as we can tell at this moment.

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