Fuck Trump

I started the day by considering how blank pages are old friends and the words are wine bottles passed around the table  

Crickets overcame me … I’m an expert on how they jump higher and higher, from shelf to shelf, and before you know it, they’re showing home movies behind the crown molding

I know where they fuck and hide in door frames and bath towels, how they talk about each other in the dark

I’ve been able to translate their chirping, just like I did the foam language of the sea, written in wavy lines of poetry on the beach

A girl on a bicycle helped me with matching the scum and debris to the English alphabet, but I figured out the meaning of cricket talk on my own, it’s the language of tiny sex, audio fires and real estate appraisal

Then I started on a screenplay about a man who decided to sell his body parts for money … he made a list of organs and other body parts with black-market value

There is nothing new about this idea, but I had the man go to a female surgeon who, after listening to his request to amputate important human characteristics, asked him out to dinner and they smoked dope while she sped down the LA freeway

During the dinner, she asked him to kill her husband in exchange for all the amputations and removals he desired, from there it went to blah, blah, blah and after more blah, the man turned up on an island with an escapee from a church camp and she transformed herself into a sex pot and the man had to accept Jesus Christ into his life … they were on an island unmarked by nautical maps and there were monsters in the hills and no restaurants or hotels, but the flowers could get one high during the fading sun

In short, my treatment is a love story, call me a sellout, but let’s face it, everybody wants a better understanding of love

Finally, I thought of Jan and Carol, of Billie and the Convert, of Aaron and that Welsh guy, of A. Mole and Hot, of people that I do not know and who don’t know me, and the only thing we have is trust and electronic waves … the invisible energy that can fire the projector at the darkened Nuart Theater on Santa Monica Boulevard … the one where I met Genevieve in the flickering light

Missa Him is pulling on me now, and I must go outside … oh yeah, fuck Trump

11 thoughts on “Fuck Trump

  1. Hey, I like the amputee story. The island idea is a neat direction. Minus the monsters, my mind slipped a little towards ‘Blue Lagoon’.
    What was it really that caught my attention? Oh, it was the woman. An escapee from a church camp. Nothing can be better than that unless she becomes a sex pot. A love story indeed.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. You might recall, I sent that first line to you and it stuck with me the whole day. It caused me to write what I did. So you have only yourself to blame for this poem. Ha. Duke

      Liked by 1 person

  2. The Tiny Sex of Crickets — a new documentary by David Attenborough.

    “Here we have the cricket. His libido is growing, primarily due to the pheromones the girl cricket is releasing due to the pornographic films they’ve both been watching. The wine helps. Soon, he’ll be unable to control himself and then, as a marvel of nature, he’ll begin to sing.” ….. “Let’s listen in.”

    Liked by 2 people

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