Trump’s America

untitled

We no longer resemble ourselves.

Barely organic beings being evolved backwards.

Autonomous outpouring of emotional pus.

Amalgamous mutations of toxic imitations.

Sluggishly we slither towards polar maladaptations.

Misporportionated porridge pours from our pores.

In pools of cess we cede our soliloquism,

disintengaging cynicism in televistic malapropism,

sloppily popism ploppy drops

glops of globulations

to the grave

brave new

what?


Image: “untitled” by Karl Persson

Words: ekphrastic poem “Trump’s America” by Joseph VanBuren

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