This poem is an ode to the passionless and visionless centrists killing the Democratic party. Oh, how I yearn for unbought and unbossed political leaders…
Open Mined
“Centrism is not pragmatic in a broken system”
They tired to keep
Their open mined
They were centrists
Without a mettle
Sow trying to be hip
As big D and little d
Level
Aheaded
Down
The sociopath
Wile fumbling fighters
A real reach
Their bottom
Lyin’
A genocide
Of vote, err, sentiment
As strip mind
Of scruples
Win ore ails
Soully a madder of taste
In de∙electability
Having made their corporate pax
