Donald Trump – A Peek-a-Boo

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donald trump

In that suit-clad exterior
Of a slogan-flasher, word-warrior
And crowd chaser – rarely pleaser
Is a man who is perennially torn
By inner demons and outer stage
A man who is pole-vaulting
To the center stage of the oval office
And be patriarch of the first family
Singing with spin doctors and dancing with witch doctors
As a perennial pyromaniac and occasional blame-gamer
Basking in circadian cycles – of dark and light
When on interfaces of dusk and dawn
Lies his true mettle when foul words
And a razor sharp tone echo
Through petrified American hearts
When how big your waistline
Or how big your hair is, does not matter
Only how big that flame in your heart is
Burning to a trickle of shale oil
Flaming threads of countless nerves
Pumping out adrenaline – in the absence of serotonin
After all trump-ets are not just
For vaudeville or the circus
They too are there to usher in
An unlikely trump suite to fate’s democracy
In one hand of poker.

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