One June-born morn, he rose again,
From slumber deep, through fog and rain.
Top hat askew, stars slightly worn,
He blinked - confused, both proud and torn.

The billboards screamed in crimson red:
“Make America Great Again,” it said.
He frowned, recalling distant years,
Of sacrifice, of hopes, of tears.

He scrolled the screen with weathered hands:
Tax cuts, coal, divided lands.
Judges...

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It is here that lies your beauty
do not testify to me anymore
of dandelions and daffodils
of butterflies and bees
do not sing like crows
beyond the dispersion of sight
then gather
in cold bare trees
sick with
discord
dislike
misfeasance.
The reward for
transgressions
destroys the cache
of elegance
of magnificence
of splendor
do not pour out sadness
breathless
from your panting ...

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