Political Sonnet Therapy

OK. I might be working this out for a bit here. Trying to funnel this emotion into some kind of creativity. There’s so much disappointment, anger, and fear that’s drilling into the mother well of sadness that I’ll need to come up slowly to avoid a bad case of the bends.

And please, do not give me any get over its, that it’s just a simple matter of dueling principles. Because the man we’re talking about doesn’t have any. His shallow, dishonest, and malicious campaign showed us that, as if his corrupt, derelict, and malevolent administration needed any further proving ground.

I will not listen to one word he has to say. I will turn off any media in which he appears. He is not my president. He will not exist in my consciousness. And I take comfort in one thought: Nixon got his after the “mandate” of ’72. This pretender will get his too. The sooner the better.

Ship of State

The red Valdez breaks through the shipping lanes
advancing towards Bligh Reef while Hazelwood
vacations on his ranch. His crude oil drains
the wilderness of soul and livelihood,
past Rocky majesty, from western sea
to bright blue liberal Massachusetts’ coast.
We question constitutionality
of missions not accomplished in this most
protected ecosystem, question spills
of cargo—not just business enterprise,
but hearts and minds, endangered blood, free wills,
and meant for more than suits to televise.
Remember cutthroat trout, the common loon—
you can’t impeach this fucking mess too soon!

OK, I promise to be a kinder and gentler person in future posts. Well, I’ll try.