Chair the board, table the argument.
Breath is held against my head, a wrenching scent
Consumes and fouls that trigger finger, this gun
Compunction wrestle fleet foot shoots me out from under
That rock where I was hiding, time abiding me
As tender as a paper tree whose leaves were cut by children.
Dropping now all around us, wiped away like tears
In tissue dragging bunching up in wads of mud, a wrapping
For this fine reunion, Donald plays his vices, wounded
In his soul, there is no judgement here of course, my God
Let's go the vole and peach pit everyone unlike us.
Death becomes a wall of ficus, potted in horse.
My presence goes unnoticed at the bar, inside the courthouse
Where again yet somehow shorter than a mile
A sentence is defiled and prison greets that young man.
Burdened with too much aggression, torn asunder he and
Sessions burning to go home, forget they ever walked upon
This land is yours, no it's mine now, ain't that grand.
(B)
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