Twelve Steps of Trumpaphobia Anonymous

  1. We admitted we were powerless over our terrifying president – that the perpetual chaos is unmanageable
  2. We came to believe that megalomaniacal dictators greater than ourselves devolved our country into incessant insanity
  3. We made a decision to turn our lives over to cynical satire and gallows humor
  4. We made circuitous and circumvented investigations of scandals, red herrings and counterespionage hijinks
  5. We admitted to our Twitter followers, ourselves and thousands of faceless online peers the exact nature of our living nightmares
  6. We were entirely ready to have the universe remove all these defective characters from positions of power
  7. We humbly, fiercely, desperately begged Eleos (goddess of mercy) to remove these characters, short of sight and appendage
  8. We noted all the communities and populations harmed and stood shoulder to shoulder, backs against the “and Mexico will pay for it!” wall (#Alternative Facts)
  9. We directly supported such wronged individuals and confronted the short-headed Trumpettes, except when to do so would endanger those individuals or ourselves
  10. We continued to evaluate the overwhelming evidence of wrong-doing, and listen to knee-jerk pronouncements as “Fake News!”
  11. We sought through prayer, meditation, yoga, wine, and rending of our sackcloth to improve our contact with other non-Trumpdom residents, praying only that we will survive both Trumpageddon and Trumpocalypse
  12. Having awakened to the stark certainty that our Trumpaphobia is #Fact, we try to broadcast this message to all Trumpaphobics, and practice these principles in all of our (consensual) affairs

 

Dreaming

I want to write that poem…

that grabs you by the head

twists your reluctant gaze in its direction

as train wrecks and nymphs routinely do;

that collides with your heart

ice pick or first love

thuds through miles of veins;

that glimmers dewdrops on your skin

whispering of sunrise and erupting volcanos;

that touches you at the core

-not in the creepy Trumpian p-grabbing way-

in the way that lights your essence on fire,

a slow smoldering that torches a forest

in an eyeblink.

 

I want to write that poem…

that centipedes among your synapses

imprinting thousands of indelible footprints

secreting sticky neurotoxins

irreversibly remodeling your thoughts;

that impels you to scribble snippets

on gum wrappers and tissues

and tuck them in your bra, pocketless,

so as not to lose your precious thought-gems.

 

I want to write that poem…

that leaves you gasping, open-mouthed,

at the import and audacity astutely conveyed;

that compels leaping, hastening to impale yourself

on a metaphor more subtle, clever

and perceptive than mine;

that holds you hostage in it’s spell

spun whole and part.

 

I want to write that poem…

that drips tears upon your shirt

eye-wiping forgotten

oblivious in your mesmerization;

that incites a knowing lip-curl

hand to heart exclaiming “me too!”

that caresses your forearm

raising hair and intimate tingling

as only a lover can do.

 

I want to write that poem…

that ratchets your pulse skyward

plummeting in sensory freefall;

that leaves you hanging by your fingernails

from a precipice, breath unraveling,

in anticipation of the ultimate climax;

that tranquillizes in the afterglow

leaving you satisfied as only

a screaming word-gasm can.

 

In the meantime, I write this.

 

 

Granite Dawn

proverb and expectation

dictate a glorious morn

scarlet singing sunrise

Apollo anointed

 

golden tongued streamers

disentangling dark

of world and thought

from Nyx’s ether

 

blazing luminary

lighting and lightening

temporal burdens

from sleep-stooped shoulders

 

disenchantment mourns

a greyed and heavy cloak

drizzle drooped

upon Aurora

 

dawn, cracked and leaden

seeps nebulous glimmers

Silent Witness

The foundation cemented over

the sins of their forebears

who observed with dispassionate detachment

incalculable suffering

meted out, one being to another –

humanity not at play.

 

Beams and planking construct

new history intended

to blot out

the infamy and ignominy

crowded between slats.

 

Whitewash notwithstanding

the earth remembers