Trump is God

Trump is God.
He even looks like God.
He’s jealous.
He demands to be worshiped above all Gods.
He smites the ones who oppose Him
and lays waste to the blue state Gomorrah
with pestilence.
He has given of Himself when He
could have been making more Billions.
His sacrifice brings more tears
than a God would sacrifice
as He dispenses His Grace
to those who worship Him
and death to those who don’t.

I’ll pass
and wait for Barron.
She kept Him away from Daddy.
He’s making Wine in the Penthouse.

National Emergency Library

The Internet Archive has temporarily suspended all wait lists, allowing you to immediately check out any of the 1.4 million books currently in their lending library. Until June 30th or the end of the US national emergency (whichever comes later), every borrowable book will be immediately accessible by anyone—creating, in effect, a National Emergency Library.

National Emergency Library

March 24, 2020

 

Website: https://archive.org/details/nationalemergencylibrary

Announcement: http://blog.archive.org/2020/03/24/announcing-a-national-emergency-library-to-provide-digitized-books-to-students-and-the-public

Corona Poem | Everything’s Fine

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


The day had started with
spraying Clorox on the mailbox
and virus infected mail
and the trip to the ATM to get dirty money
obtained by touching a screen
touched by many hands.

I wiped the disease ridden cart
and pushed it into Walmart.
It preferred to circle the store
by turning to the left.

As the cart led me around Walmart
to the left,
to the left,
let’s go to the left,
I selected infested products
put on shelves by humans
and I passed by other humans,
breathing, breathing,
touching,
touching things.
I soon had a contaminated cart
full of contaminated items
and I was ready to use
another contaminated touch screen
and bring these diseased items

into my house.

Everything’s fine.

Or So it Seems | Poem by David Michael Jackson

Pollockary by David Michael Jackson

 
 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

or so it seems

Time held me in the throes of my own heart
time held me dreaming of the snow,
of the gravel road,
the long walk to the bus,
and a little boy
looking out of the bus window
at an old man
walking in the snow alone
leaving footprints
crisp and new
and so soon
covered.