You can trap the hearts of
American democracy
in your narcissistic web of lies,
pitch them into a dungeon of untruth,
command they bow to you,
demand they turn gold into straw.
You can love your own voice,
bathe in your own glee,
sing in your tub
as you scrub your hairy soul
till all those who worship you
are raw.
Rumpelstiltskin needn’t crow his name,
dancing before that fire.
But, like you, he had no self-control.
He warbled; you twitter
and your song of ego
will reveal your name.
We hurl every name at you
to change your heart.
We plead for all human rights,
but only the Right you know
is concocted in your rancid stew.
And we will know your name.
In the dark forest of your life,
brag before the fire,
stomp until you split in half
like that evil troll of old.
It will be the vanishing of you.
And we will know your name.
Originally published on I Am Not A Silent Poet