damned right I feel faint

The doctors called it "vagal syncope"
"we're unconcerned; it's  just a neural quirk
but--since you're here, we'll take an EKG
you'd better plan to take the day off work"
The ambulance ride's daunting to afford
Americans routinely come up short.
No bleeding here; the EMTs look bored.
The billing's for another day (in court).
The UniversalCare the FirstWorld's got
we're told "is not for us" because we're free.
But bankruptcy's too often free men's lot; 
insurers profit on insanity.
What Truman ran on back in '48
might yet save $trillions--at some far-off date.

"I know all about flippers"

Trump's sweating; his whole White House reeks of fear
now David Pecker took immunity.
The files of kompromat he bought so dear
serve Trump trussed prostrate on the headsman's tee.
The doorman's tale, Geoff Chaucer might have penned
sly satire of false claimants to high class.
We roar, to reach the moral; at the end
Trump's victims live to bite him in the ass.
A higher-order predator's in charge
team Mueller snaps up high and low at will.
No clue's too small, no web of lies too large.
They snack on those who live by catch-and-kill.
No honor binds this partnership of crime;
the last to flip's the perp who'll serve hard time.

empty

The stream of consciousness through Donald's head
flows one way only, like the river Lethe
He purges instantly what he's just said;
each thought's ephemeral as last night's breath.
"Write-only memory"'s a CS joke.
Capacity's unbounded in this bin.
Retrieval--on the other hand--is broke;
he'll never pull up what been once put in.
No lasting bonds--wham bam!--each one-off date
the parting--for her part's--the part that's sweet.
New teams of lawyer must repudiate
his empty promises and racist tweets.
No memory, no vision shades his Tao;
dementia traps Trump wholly in the Now.

Eulogy

Obama'll give McCain a eulogy;
the two had grown to know each other well.
Among the issues on which they agree
the current president should go to Hell.
Prince Harry snubbed him on the wedding list
invoking Peleus as precedent.
His day he won't share with that egoist;
the orange clown will never be a gent.
Pariah in the diplomatic world
in seven decades never made a friend
without a fee, he's never got a girl;
there'll be no words of praise at his own end.
McCain's passed on; let others fight the fight.
We wish him godspeed into that good night.

Truth is not truth

The stream of consciousness through Donald's mind
portrayed in fragments in his hasty tweets
defies historians who'd hope to find
beneath the smoke, a trace of fire, or heat.
If one would speculate, there's just a hint
of what's the truth that motivates this liar.
That stream of consciousness' yellow tint
betrays what makes his basest synapse fire.
Reptilian drives for warmth, or mate, or meal
extend no further than his progeny.
Each one-night-stand's an unrelated deal
and nothing adds up to a policy.
His starlight promises, each dawn forgets;
Trump's lawyers hope to prove that it's Tourette's.

unindicted co-conspirator

Mike Cohen pled, like any two-bit mob-
ster, gagging witnesses to guard his don.
A detail of the consigliere's job
who earns his pay by dumping last week's blondes.
The news rocked Trump's whole propaganda corps
where no one'd shown concern for Cohen's plight.
His un-indicted co-conspirator
now sees his peril, if not yet the Light.
John Dean came 'round abruptly, like St. Paul,
forsook his wicked ways and crooked boss;
as sovereigns, we must atone this Fall
by sacking Trump's enablers for a loss.
The sword of Justice lifts, to come down hard.
Khuzami's laying waste this house of cards.

Agon III

Sing muse! Achilles awesome in his ire
remained immune to Helen's vaunted charm.
She's fair, but not the type to light his fire
and Paris never did him any harm.
Unlike the other kings, he'd sworn no vow

to court the heiress, he's not yet of age.
He's told he's dying young, but can't know how

but Destiny requires a broader stage.

Nine years, the booty dangled out of reach
the oak hulls rot, the linen sails lie furled.
Our hero with his boyfriend strolls the beach
'til Agamemnon gives him back the girl.
The Western Canon's greatest epic text
makes no pretense that War's not twin to Sex.