On Kremlin Stones
The future is all red
Five years ago on the social media channel formerly known as Twitter. I asked people to give “one word” that best described the man some of you know as “President Donald J. Trump.
Over 100 words were submitted, some mentionable and others a little more delicate. At last count, I used 48 of the words.
My goal was to create an epic, a long poem that told a story, made people laugh, but also perhaps took the reader on a deeper trip to something more profound.
On Kremlin Stones:
last night the stardust bit me and I had the strangest dream,
the year was 2042, and the darkness ran supreme.
I found myself in Russia, in a dream that wasn’t Luther’s,
tyrants ruled this evil world, it was a cruel and capricious future.
it was winter there in Moscow, a call came through the din,
“could you please lend ME a dollar?” his voice rang, hollow and thin,
as I looked down to the ground, on the edge, of cold Red Square,
he sat there in sad squalor, bent broken with despair.
his face, now long forgotten, fought with surgeon’s knife in vain,
a nefandous human story, of a life inflicting pain,
his skin the taint of orange, his eyes, now laced with fear.
I was sure death was knocking, that the reaper’s breath was near.
yet inspite his state, there lingered something awful and so sinister,
an abhorrence reaking putrid, lying crookedly familiar,
now broken there before me, once a tower, tall and greedy,
lay an exiled former President, insecure and @realneedy.
the Good Samaritan in me… should’ve walked along my way,
but humanity beckoned, and I stopped and I prayed.
and I lifted him up, I put him back on his feet,
then he begged me for a cheeseburger, so we walked down cobbled streets
we sat down at the table under arches still there golden,
and as he ate there bigly, with each bite, HE became emboldened,
then the narcissist inside him reared its UGLY swollen head,
the beggar now forgotten,
for HE was GREATER than Lincoln, Jefferson or Johnson.
and HE talked,
and HE talked,
and HE talked,
and HE talked,
and I just sat there and I listened, as the bullshit became, uncorked,
such ground-breaking, mendacity, such combed-over ruthless treason,
my ears were exhausted, by HIS words, bankrupt from any reason.
HE should be on Rushmore? the Dotard LOUD insisted,
“HE, the GREATEST of all men, was so unfairly resisted,
by swindlers and swamp dwellers, boggarts and nitwits,
and a left leaning congress, who tried to impeach HIM; so anachronistic.
“but HE was not defeated because winning was his game,
HIS talent underestimated, HIS foes, HE put to shame,
no one thought HE’D win again, that HE’D make a second term
but this autocratic FUHRER was impossible to burn.”
HE stopped… just for a moment, and I caught my breath a little,
I put my feet FIRM on the ground, as HE wiped off all HIS spittle,
“Perhaps you won a second go,” my voice etched quiet with rage,
but you stole away a nation’s hope, with ugliness uncaged.”
“and now, with decades flown by, you lie and beg for food,
on Kremlin stones, your corrupt soul eats your vitriolic spew,
you claim your kleptolagniac wins, like you’re some Gold Star Vet
and yet, you walk on bony spurs, and our country won’t forget”
and then, HE looked at me, quite strangely, as if unsure… of time,
and for a second I saw right through HIM, perhaps, for the very first time,
HE was not a buffoon, nor the bravest kind of peep
just a vapid, twatwaffling, conman, with an addiction to HIS own, self-grandiosing TWEETS.
And then came that golden moment, that from my dream I shan’t forget,
perhaps HE found HIS conscience? Could HE hear the reapers breath?
“it was Vlad”, HE uttered softly, “we colluded, we did it
together,
two comrades purchased, the entire world, yeah, red brothers…now and forever.”
I sat there, speechless, frozen, at the beast that lay before,
the TRUTH, the horror of this life this awful schadenfraude,
a man, so EGO-CENTRIC, that HE would grab ahold of power,
a fool so madly maladroit, HE’D trade… country, for a golden shower.
I told HIM without sympathy, from this place of TRUTH within,
you partnered with the devil, choosing wealth over neighbor’s kin,
and now, your dying in the cold, without a friend who cares,
for every life a reckoning comes, and listen, yours is… near.
And HE got up from the table, disgust on HIS scrotum face,
“I’VE no need to hear this crap, I’VE gotta get out, of this place!”
And HE took three steps, towards the door, and on his fourth… HE fell,
the liar breathed his final breath, then tumbled into hell.
and even in this dream of mine, when the future came to call,
a realization, struck my gut, that there’s a message for us ALL
that this nightmare lives inside our hearts to prophesy, a TRUTH,
that leaders rise to serve us all outside the polling booth,
and if we choose to elevate a crooked kind of man,
who falsifies and always lies, then we reckon with God’s hand
for HE is us and we are HIM, HE”S a mirror we hold near,
and follow HIM, the nation will, to begging in Red Square.
So don’t see HIM as a villain but a symptom of all that’s wrong
that the racist and the greedy still sing our nation’s song
and we must fight so ruthlessly to rid ourselves of sin,
of hypocrisy and kakistocracy, or the TRUTH will never win.
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