Two waters wet and dry
burn and chill
illuminate mountains
extinguish stars
melt freeze pose timidly
on leaves sweat bullets
in peacetime shimmer
in war calling sand to task
impregnating rivers
screaming tears dilute
and overflow allowing
for gods of mud and ice.
Well it’s T-Bone and the Russkies and their pack of inbred huskies
we see scrambling every day for some solution.
Seeking some equation that will pacify the nation,
maybe say it’s just evasion, not collusion.
They repeat to their cronies that accusers are just phonies;
this “witch hunt” is deemed a personal attack.
T-Bone won’t let justice try him and his party will stand by him.
If they don’t he’ll simply stab them in the back.
Kelly Con and Sarah Hucker tell bold lies to save this fucker,
play the country like a sucker, truth be damned.
It’s D.C. Comics come to life, orange man and hypno wife.
But how much longer can we be flimflammed?
Forty nine questions.
The croaker croaks.
The tweeter tweets.
The garden of heathens
is showing its colors.
In the weeds predators huddle.
Seeds of democracy are scattered.
We must be active gardeners
to insure truth must flower.
And spring may clean
our great distress.