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
Image: “untitled” by Karl Persson
Words: ekphrastic poem “Trump’s America” by Joseph VanBuren