For Langston Hughes (In Free Verse)

(Langston Hughes taught me poetically how to write about racism. /wr)

In the breach of politics—as white supremacy expands
to a global brand of brute tribute that shakes
democracy and populations in fear;
in a economic hegemony proven
of matching China’s best efforts in the Pearl River zone–
freedom and power have cleaved:
freedom is a farce transfixed,
empty of substance;
power has turned against the people,
its vision is the eye on
the balance sheet and the spectre of division.
Power calls injustice fair,
turns grief into a political wedge and
expresses personal vanity—it seeks not the common good
but bragging rights.

Trump, blinded by his Obama hatred—the fixture
of his racism—is so inept in his governing,
his only satisfaction at the end of the days
are his lies and a self-stirred chaos blamed-on-others,
a void of moral bankruptcy, and his assignation
of pain to countries, companies, and people.
The only non-lie is his cruel truth.

Goodbye Spin, Hello Raw Dishonesty


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