Turning and turning in the never-ending news cycle
The primary voter cannot hear the RNC;
Coalitions fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Donald Trump is loosed upon the world.
The slime-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of commonsense is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revolution is at hand;
Surely another revolution is at hand.
Another revolution! Hardly are those words out
When a vaunting image out of black-and-white newsreels
Troubles my sight: raised hands at rallies where
A shape with a man’s body and the hair of a troll,
A face with stunted gaze and a sphincter-like mouth,
Spews feces of hate while all about him
Swarm legions of lemming-like whites,
Shouting curses and slugging protesters!
It looks as if a half-century of stony sleep has been
vexed into nightmare by yet another authoritarian,
who now that his hour has come round again
slouches towards Washington to be sworn.