labor day poem
S.O.S.: LABOR DAY POEM
Foxy spawns in the game, they digit post-truth for the
lame,
for ladies and lords of the burning-cross clans,
for stupidities hatching fascist plans, damning the media
of the changing same.
Tweets shall
neither night nor day
cease within his
tower's lid;
he shall long live
a thug forbid,
working seven vices,
nine times nine.
They, three sisters hand in hand,
trump ire, peppering water, salting land,
thus do twerk, around, about,
thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
and thrice again, to make up nine
and anodize all reason out.
Tweets shall
neither night nor day
cease within his
power's grid;
he shall survive
and thrive a thug forbid,
working seven vices,
nine times nine.
Paris coutured, Kremlin perfumed,
they, none of human born,
eclipse his mane, blonde-rinse his eyes,
moon-dust and polish his horn,
lightly catechism false fact lies,
any old thing at any old rate to make the nation great.
Tweets shall
neither night nor day
cease within his
penthouse lid;
he shall survive
and thrive a thug forbid,
working seven vices,
nine times nine.
Jerry W. Ward, Jr. September 4, 2017
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