Trump Drives On Deep Into Twitter part 2


Trump Drives On Deep Into Twitter

                        for Richard Brautigan

(Watermelon 2) (of a 12 Watermelon poem)


March again?, 2019

it’s such a bronze medal-fucked year



Everything worth winning stuff

keeps getting kicked in the truth,

its face ground into the gravel by

random gangs of rowdy assholes with Budweiser breath

puffed up full of New Nazis propaganda

and the idea of Mar-a-Largo


playing poker with their toes

while they can


The most horrible shit in this world is tough to defeat

It’s hard enough trying to beat the horrible shit

that can’t even beat the most horrible shit that

always wins everything   (#2nd place)

and still, we hang in there

(on a wet rope made of memories and lost coats)

running our laps at 2 in the morning

even though everything worth anything these days

keeps consistently coming

in third place


Love loses hard

to Hustler reading Bible smokers in red baseball caps

and a Trump Tower sized Kaiju, beast-sweat pouring

from its own crotch placed in the middle of its forehead,


A gigantus creep created

by the hate and radioactive gullibility

of everyone who laughs while thinking a snowball

trumps climate change science

and follow the president on Twitter

religiously, crotch itched,

believing it all


a Noah’s ark

filled with one pair

of every possible type

of delusion


Darwin’s drinking scotch

in his grave right now

picking at worms while documenting the downfall

and inevitable evolution

of the human soul


If Brautigan was here right now

I’d catch him up on the current state

of the Marvel Cinematic Universe

and Absurdism


We’d watch Captain America: Civil War

and finish the bottle

while writing tight, heartfelt letters

to our individual Helens and Congress


while on some beach

somewhere in California

a turtle is talking to a sea shell

about that one lost day in the 90’s


when it almost met Luke Perry


It was gold

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