Full Circle...

© 20 June 2020, the Griot Poet

Moloch’s altar has never been so filled with the “faithful.”
People thrilled by the amorous chill.
Up to their spines of being in the presence
Of their orange god,

“If looks could kill.”

Signing waivers as they pass through
His flaming, Corona arms
To savor
His off-scripted logorrhea,
A kind of diarrhea-of-the-mouth
Foul and vile conjuring’s of word feces,
Tribal hatred of “the other.”

Smothering themselves
In the gaseous plumes
Of R naught transmissions
Like flatulence insanity
Emissions with every shout,
Every scream,

Near open graves filled by
Descendants of former slaves and former residents
Of Black Wall Street,

Darwin and karma
Intervenes, the
Exponential spreader event
For QAnon, Y’all Qaeda
And the fascist few,

Intubation
Before spreading fresh
Reciprocal graves,
Post-Juneteenth,
Post-Tulsa,
From “sea to shining sea.”