Dear Donald,

How are you? I just thought I’d write to let you know that the rain still falls. The sun shines in the morning, and the course of the moon and the stars at night move in the same way that one would expect for the time and the season.

The immutable laws of physics send their love. The infinite chasm of space would like you to know that your hubris is adorable. You are a speck on a speck on a mote on a dot in the universe, and not even destroying the world will change that.

But you go ahead and try, Donny boy. It’s as good a year as any to snuff out this project.

Give the roaches my best,



Come lord Jesus, be our guest,
Donald Trump’s a palimpsest

Yahweh, Yahweh, holy cow,
Donald Trump’s a golem now

Mother Mary, help us please,
Donald Trump is made of bees

Gracious Allah, lend us aid,
Donald’s nuked our Medicaid

Honored Vishnu break it down,
Donald Trump’s a fat old clown

Hey Siddhartha, what’s the haps,
Donald Trump is full of crap

Dear Confucius, time to roll
We gave the nation to a troll


We rise against false equivalencies
and the lure of simple answers
in a complex world.

In airport food courts we rise
to advocate for those whose hope is lost.
We rise for them because

every time we see this it becomes easier
to unbend, to stand,
to do our best,

whatever that best may be.
A nation afraid makes bad choices
and fine, disenfranchised white guy,

we’ll get into your details in a bit.
Right now a Potemkin village is missing its strawman.


You would turn away the Christ. Every border weeps,
Remembering the time before they were deified.

Adrienne is departed, but before her sweeps
the memory of ghazals, imperfect, left wanting

by this impoverished tongue, this pale mortar weeps –
it has spirit, and it tries, and fails to outlast.

The bricks have been lain too fast, sir. No more, yr steep
pillage through the lower alleys of America.

Ain’t slumming. Concatenation of fascist creeps
has launched your ass into the big chair. You listen

at doors that open to rooms
named for men
who, without a drop of internet,
would find rage unknown at your cowardice.


As if art cares.
Let me tell you about art:
we made art before
there was money.

Art escapes out your pores
and boosts a car
and heads for the hills
with a box of sparklers
and a polaroid camera.

Don’t get me wrong,
this is a nightmare.
But art? Art will endure.

Art will pick us up if we but attend.
Hang us from the rearview like dreamcatchers.


Build the wall around Chicago
so that Malcolm’s “House Party” can ring out.
Build the wall around Chicago
and blame Kanye.

Build the wall around Chicago
because Towkio’s at the lake house.
Build the wall around Chicago
so that noname can have some peace and quiet.

Build the wall around Chicago
because those ladies murdered good men
over dumb stuff like domestic violence.

Build the wall, build the wall,
build the wall around Chicago
Because Chicago will come for you.


If I wanted facts I would’ve asked you.
I have keen insight, okay, into facts.
The fact is we don’t know anything, man.
Who died and forgot to make me pontiff?

I have a keen insight. Okay, into facts!
The religious are mostly useful, though
who died and forgot to make me pontiff?
I’ll waterboard ’em all if I want to.

The religious are mostly useful. Though
I walk in the shadow of the valley
I’ll waterboard ’em all if I want to.
Noblesse oblige. My tie like a bandsaw.

I walk in the shadow of the valley.
The fact is we don’t know anything. Man,
noblesse oblige, my tie like a bandsaw,
if I wanted. Facts, I would have askew.


They passed a regulation banning regulations.
They brought back a ban on speaking.

They said the inaugural was a smash.
They said bitches weren’t sh*t.

That mean white way we say it, like we
can’t be bothered to form words.

They lied and lied and lied and lied
and lied and lied and lied.


The border is a sponge soaked in honey,
actual honeycomb in places where the bees
have created a squat for a tinpot princess.

The nation is a hybrid, absorbing, reflecting,
coopting, reforming. A ceaseless wonder
quite unlike your inaugural lies.

The people hold small boxes labeled “dissent,”
each identical, pulsing with a power
that must terrify you,

you in your new sheets and the weight
of centuries staring you down from every crevice.

The moon is waning, the nights deep dark.
You are the man who stares starkly out,
unsleeping, unsettled, growing rancid with age.


He wanders
the halls
grabbing statues
by the pussy

/This home
could use
more gold leaf/
he thinks

of women

to the cause we should never
have neglected


The inauguration will have mineral notes
and a luscious mouthfeel.
The inauguration will be served with
a bechamel sauce and asparagus.
The inauguration’s fifth chakra burns purple.

The inauguration will smoke a blunt
with Snoop Dogg and Willie Nelson while
Buffy Summers slays a vampire and
flies through the air after scissor-kicking off
the lectern, where Joseph Stalin’s bible

lies open to Genesis 22 and that fucker
will take the wood of the burnt offering
and lay it upon the nation.
And the fire. And the knife.


One of the debate topics when I was a kid
(I don’t remember the actual resolution,
like most resolutions made or witnessed,
like the silent promise to persevere
that we make each morning)

allowed affirmatives to run a plan banning
the importation of Mexican avocados.
The evidence for, and glowing forecasts of the success of,
the plan to ban the avocados
came from the California avocado board.

All of the literature produced by the California folks
was copy/paste from centuries old
anti-miscegenation rhetoric. Mexican avocados
were going to come north and impregnate
our pure, creamy American avocados

with an army of mulatto spawn. Taco trucks
on every corner.
Trimp Tromp Trump.