Donald

Comforts fused cloned hands to skulls of cavemen 
Antithetical options became numerous during ignorance 

And the bones came from whales 

Dark yellow burned the edges of squat cells 
Each tight barnacle 
Itchy and scaly 

Their rusted walls holding the stern meanest man 
(Who says a lot by saying nothing at all) 

By reporting live from the cave 

He flaps his newborn hands in an attempt to seem kind 

Blowing soft kisses and coos 

His jagged teeth 
Though whitened 
Delivers stark rules 
While saliva runs down his savage jowls 
dripping daily news 

("It is okay," the audience sighs, "The weather has been warm") 

A fresh clean evil born of detachment 
The bare memories of good intentions 

Worth nothing against the base which has no scent 

Languid in the clearing after the break -- 

He continues to wave and bids farewell behind the soft buzzing of machines