… versifyin’ and signifyin’ about the hue, and fool me fool you; of these fallacious and fallow times. Seeing it all in black and white presently, I post hesitantly. Aware that my Maker may be reading over my shoulder.
Should I be bolder.
To parry that Ponce of a POTUS with out the protection of alliteration. It ain’t a crime to rhyme, but nor is it time to wolf ticket the doggerel of war. And it’s a bore to ignore tweets that treat treason as an ellipsis … a marble statue, not a living law of facts made raw…
Aid… bought, bartered, or blackmailed…you bet.
Comfort… cash and carry… certainly, and continues currently, and this sentence, running on concurrently, gives clue… to what I feel the District should do. Make that art of the deal real, and allow him simply to slither away.
And let History have its way. And that first draft of events comes the very next day. And in what fairway does he or his…then play? And you gainsay?
Well then, what’s par for your course?
- I’m aware of the Constitutional definition of treason, and that’s the reason this is a prose poem and not a straight up polemic or political essay.
