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Politics without comparison
would make for a far less
hostile and egomaniacal landscape,
as the press will pit red against blue—
it seems as long as ratings are on the rise—
until no man is left standing,
so that we’re all watching the Donkey drown
and ignoring the Elephant in the room.
We went from public displays of affection
Straight to public displays of everything
Now leaving nothing to the imagination
Embracing it all, then apologizing for it after.
It’s like some convoluted social stream of consciousness
That forms a figure eight of disingenuous pandering
One which tastes to a choir of social unrest
Like change, its value null, when in reality it’s all just
As sad and dull as high school sex.
You’ll see what you want to see
and believe what you already believe
so, eh, yah—
what more is there to say about the
Presidential Debate?
I know Matt Whitaker
I don’t know Matt Whitaker
Except, here’s the thing.
We’re not picking daisies
Mr. President
you’re running the country
Mr. President
and you don’t even know who you know?
Mr. President
America is not one of your companies.
America is not your next big deal.
America is not another bankruptcy for you to cash in on.
Mr. President
we’re not picking daisies,
but if we were
she’d love you not.
“You’re a liar.”
“No, you’re a liar.”
“I know you are but what am I?”
“Real mature, Dick!”
“Can’t we just play War already…”
“Wow! You really are a Dick.”
“What?”
“We almost had them fooled, jerk.”
“I know you are but what am I.”
black
white
brown
yellow
red
Just colors
until,
we make them more.
Words Of An Average White Male 