The New Old Figurehead

or maybe I should title this poem, The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

Like the demure runt of German obscurity
with soft hands sidesaddle from jet to jet;
There our piss-soaked, twilight boundary shall sit.

A puny man with a dildo, whose mouth foams
full of political, electric discharge.
His name, the Father of Insiders.

From his empty pockets wane worldwide welcome;
his bedroom eyes submit to any public exposure
that frames two coasts.

"Gimme new lands! A sweet deal!"
he whines with his non-existent lips.
"Gimme your spirited, your wealthy,
your flagrant 1% dreaming of living tax-free.
The blessed elite exclusive islands.

Deport them, the houseless, hard-life survivors overseas!"
while I put my tiny fingers inside the fool's gold backdoor.