The Great White Latter-Day Candidate Settles the Autochthonous American Question Once and for All

My fellow squaw—I mean 

Straw—men no more squawking 

Forked tongues, no more 

Corporate reservations full 

Of bitter rotting liver heroes, let’s drink 

To sweet Manifest Destiny Snake Oil the only 

Way to go! 

Sacrificial Spit

“Hear that smell!” he spat out 

As if transfixed, 

A phrase that sent our animal senses 

Reeling while he slowly turned 

That heavenly paschal lamb basted 

Ever so gently with oregano and oil— 

Such an orgy of taste, sight and smell! 

But mum was the word when it came to 

That smoldering pit of hell. 

Bullet Points Delineating Thick-Headed Meme Brained Civilized Man

Generation

. 

Upon generation 

. 

Of grey 

. 

Matter winding up thin 

. 

Pliable sheet covering 

. 

Acculturated 

. 

Stiff 

Tailor-made Moonless Night

Waiting 

To take measure of the dazzling 

Fabric of the universe, 

I wait out 

Beyond the needles of the pines 

For the pinholes to appear; 

Many questions on my mind but 

Only one of any substance— 

How many light years will it take 

For this threadbare body 

To pierce the heavens 

At the appointed hour 

And disappear? 

Blown Away

The heat wave was so 

Stupefying the cicadas 

Exploded taking off 

Our heads the last I heard 

They were high- 

Tailing it, frazzled 

By dodging sparrows 

Pine to pine.