By Sean J Mahoney
WHEN DJT EMBRACED HIMSELF AS A MUSLIM
It wasn’t as though DJT got dissected and caged –
‘cuz he did. It wasn’t as if DJT’s immigrant family tree
was free of sometimes sordid green card stories –
‘cuz it wasn’t. It was, in fact, a problem with the soup.
Or perhaps it was the strange fruit of the poplar
tree. Maybe seed stains from the pomegranate.
DJT did all he could to understand the past, bone
up and bite bullets, undersized arms, crazed trucks
and acid launchers and melon catapults. There had
to be an acumen, a compelling agent, somewhere
in the flavoring packet. DJT reasoned singularly.
He thought a lot. He prayed and obeyed. He wept
for his people and admonished those who would
intentionally distort the great book and align them-
selves with chaos and distortion. DJT discovered
fire and knew it to be a purifying act in his heart.
Although DJT also at times thought himself both
Muslim and American and felt no obligation to
abandon one faith in favor of the other. No logic
called for that, no flavor at all. DJT knew each
tree rooted represented facets and flaws of all
people and all sin. DJT sighed and faced East.
When DJT Was Female
I did not know how to write you. I felt overwhelmed…you could even say intimidated. Invoking Mother Earth or saying Mother of Invention, singing of Rosanna or Proud Mary, referring to large steady vessels, or fierce devastating storms. All of these come round the mountain eventually. According to need and necessity. You know of course that men are trying to wrest control of your sacred chamber away from you – as if any have moral authority to commit such a violation. I understand that now is scary – times of rapid change often are. You are the light bringer. Keeper of the peace. Sweet as honey, savage as furies.
I still am puzzled. You know that facts are facts and that there can only be a singular set that agrees with what has come to pass. What has been said and recorded and well documented. This as sure as solid gold or at least it has been up to now. I know you reign from both ends of the day…from well above to down and destitute. From working your body to working the body politic. From reformer to pejorative. From balancing the budget to budgeting the food and the shampoo and the coffee, etc. With time and majority you made it all – for as many as you could conjure real magic for – work.
It makes your stomach sick with both feminism and ‘will to power’ throttling the motors. As if you had to abide by just one. As if neither held inherent flaws, irredeemable tenets.
When you were female and more powerful than you ever gave yourself credit for…more powerful. More revolutionary. More progressive. Once upon a time, when I struggled with how to write you, I wept for my inability…though in truth I reveled in it. I could not clothe you nor were you mine ever for fashion. This water trinket is yours to do with as you please. Yours is the arm of power.
I do not celebrate you. I fear what you could realize about yourself.
Men that would quash you with blood. With weaponry and malice, shame, and with glee demean and displace you. Overburden you with child, smear, and dependency. Exchange you. That it is through our very souls we come to know power or the beast. War within. Tiring of eternity. Yet we return and regain ourselves with placental materials, return to the womb over and over again. When you were female DJT – in the time between stick and the stone, dick and the throne – and the first planted seed finally broke ground.
Excision — Part 2
I am afraid of this: if fear, then loathing.
That fact. That fact is the matter. That ‘after this therefore because of this’.
Yes it’s still true.
That fact – that you Sir, are where you are.
Yet because of, or perhaps despite, this, I contain the debilitating bumps
and maddening agents responsible for your undoing.
You see only the election is over.
I beg you to come out for me: walk these streets and ask Americans for directions.
Seek their counsel as I rake…I mean seek…you for yours.
This of course reinforces the illusion that you are a man of and for the people.
I just want to ask you directly how not paying your workers makes you smart.
It’s good television right? Perhaps. In most of the world it’s simply dishonest.
Embrace the interconnectedness of all things at all times. Electrostatic fields. Non-locality. Science is science and even money is regulated by its principles.
Possibly this will make you squeamish…like the idea of changing a diaper or achieving calluses.
Equality feels like a private oppression.
Sea sweet yet it will not grow again this season, ’tis ruined at the root.
Twist me out of the desire to thrive, you and your demons of stupidity.
After this therefore because of this. You know the fallacy yes? Your fallacy yes?
You know the legal fictions upon which you sail?
Please DJT – enough of what you think you know about you.
Come out and play…
Sean J Mahoney lives with his wife, her parents, two Uglydolls, and three dogs in Santa Ana, California. He works in geophysics. He believes in salsa, dark chocolate, and CBD. He believes that Judas was a way better singer than Jesus and that diatomaceous earth is a not well known enough gardening marvel. His work has been published at Tethered by Letters, Wordgathering, Nine Mile Magazine, The Honeyed Quill, OTV Magazine, and Barking Sycamores among others.