The president’s hair arrives

The president’s hair arrives

Cantilevered over the low brow

Underneath: a vast plain filled

With locusts and hyenas

And furious wind

We’re on the move

The hair riding like a

Surfer on a wave of

shambling locomotion

Sawdust arms and little hands

Pinching the air

Something stopped us

What is going on

Who are these people

What do they want

Vote him out vote him out

What are they saying

From up here it sounds like

We love you we love you

We want to become one with

Your great I-am

So sexy sexy sexy

Look serious, make the face

That looks like a baby

Bearing down in a diaper

The president’s mouth is moving

Saying dangerous stupid things

He’s said a million times before

. . .

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