One of my recent pet peeves is cable TV news in what seems to be am over-focus on Donald Trump, to the exclusion of the rest of the many intriguing and important things going on in the world. Ironically, these self-fulfilling prophets are concerned about him sucking all of the oxygen out of the room. I grow weary of the endless hand-wringing over whether “the base” will ever change. Thus, this poem:
Base Squared
We here too much
A bout “the base”
Immutable
The libs frayed
Of the buy and buy
Utterly owned
Hapless to square that circle
The won wring
Too rule them
Awe
Could it really be sow simple?
Artlessly square
In efface of
Base base
Fooly comfortable
Digging that bedrock
And when the bed is rocking
Don’t come knocking
Oh Oh
Desperately tempting
To replenish
That Oh²
In the room
With know room
When really awe
It takes
Realizing
Change happens
Just like shit
