TRUMP AS A FIRE WITHOUT LIGHT #503
It was a strange and compelling trick, but we (all of us) know now that this smoky field is America’s faintest heartbeat. We know there is zero charm in the evisceration of our masterwork. Our deepest self is worth saving. I don’t know what the fuck this is.
[More poems by Darren C. Demarree]
[Check out Darren’s back porch wisdom here]