94.

We’ll cut all the taxes.
Show me a tax and I’ll cut it.
We’ll spackle over the cracks
with discarded regulations
and a little gold leaf.
It’s worked forever.

But the niggling suspicion
that someone’s on to you,
Donald. That out there
is not a secret but an
intuition that you are
a lying sack of-

The infidels are back in your brain,
whispering rationalities. Cast them out.

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