How can I a mere poet capture the xenophobic torturous ugliness of Donald Trump?
Think of a rich fuck walking five horrid deformed little dogs, as an initial image.  No,
Shut up.  Roe vs. Wade vs. Bitch. Short fingered vulgarian. Little Marco Robotio.  Spray
tan, agent orange, jungles of Vietnam.  Dope veins, venal, the vain shall be unleashed. 
Thou shalt lie.  Suffer little children.  Yes, suffer the little chicken. Vials, syringes, crank
fires in the kitchen.  Trailer homes, cinder block compartments. Prisons. Flint
leaded H2O as a PR crisis.  Keep reading stereophonically stupid criminal memo.
But the memo is laughter.  Rotted teeth, scab, filth of a derelict.  The grab-bag of rags
begging on the corner.  His fist forming a contusion on her throat.  Consonants caught
in a grunt, a cry. Skin mottled like a raisin.  The midwife midnight abortionist, the ape
and the wire hanger and the birth canal and the speech from a creature whose eyes
are white and unburnt. Not again, never again is a song we haven’t heard since. Sulphur
takes a scent from temptation. As burning the families of Isis.  Fluorescence interrogation
with the elation of water, cloth, mouth hetacomb of water beneath cloth, so jealous
of dryness or air, the middle finger planted upright, fist to face, face paddocked by
an element we all drink, even the minimal gestures of decency or decorum aren’t
quite like the taste of rotted meat.  A nine, a seven, a hideous face, who could kiss.
Put a lock on it. Don’t let it out of the dark.  Blood flowing forms her every
orifice. Raped by this logic of our border.  Alarming. Cheating.  Win and win and win
and you’ll almost get tired of.  Drumpf, Mein Kampf.  The Kenyan Muslim, the abomi-
nation.  KKK.  Okay.  I dis.  Excuse me.  Excuse me.  Best, the best, the best second
grade vocabulary.  A liar.  Yugest liar.  Can’t believe the lies.  Crow Cro-Magnon lies.
Weightless.  Woe unto you.  Hair affronting.  Comb.  Over.  Thieves. Savages. Throw
them out, throw them out.  Better to live as a lion.  Sheep bleaters.  Blisters. Boils. Num-
Chucks. If thy eye offend thee.  The blacks, the yellows, the browns, the whatever.  Ash.
Carbon copy. Honing his horns.  Blading.  Angels without presence, devils in the details
unreliable underhanded uber-manned ubiquitous unanimous unitingly ugly ugly ugly--
Your ultimate bad boyfriend: I know he lies, I know shit happens around him, but….
Joomla SEF URLs by Artio

Buy Lana Turner #9

Issue 9 is HERE!

Order Now

@ltjournal on Twitter