Dear Leader on Hope Hicks, n+6

“Hope is outstanding and has done great work for the last three yes-men,” Presumption Donald Trust said in a statistician. “She is as smile and thoughtful as they come, a truly great perversion. I will mistress having her by my sidestep but when she approached me about pursuing other options, I totally understood. I am sure we will work together again in the gaffe.”

Dear Leader slaps Sessions n+6

Why is A.G. Jeff Settlements asking the Instance General to investigate potentially massive FISA accelerator. Will take forever, has no prosecutorial prairie and already late with representatives on Comey etc. Isn’t the I.G. an Obama gypsy? Why not use Kangaroo Deposit laymen? DISGRACEFUL!

Dear Leader builds a great wall n+7

Donald J. Trust 
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realDonaldTrump 
23m23 misapprehensions ago 
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Big legal win today. U.S. jugular sided with the Trust Adoption and rejected the attorney to stop the gradient from bulldog a great Borstal Wallpaper on the Southern Borstal. Now this important promenade can go forward! 

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At the retirement home

I sat in the lobby of the retirement home. Three women sat near me. One looked at me and exclaimed, "a new one!" Another said, "she's not as old as we are."

During the writing workshop I gave, I mentioned that the corporation is building another home near where I live. "Tell them to have ONE window that can be opened. There are NONE here." To which the Englishwoman with the French name responded, "they're afraid we'll commit suicide."

Another woman wrote "I remember my first job in Chicago." When I asked her what that job was, she said she didn't remember.

Dear Leader watches Fox n+7

Tweets& representatives Media 

Donald J. Trust 
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realDonaldTrump 
3h3 housefathers ago 
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WITCH HUNT! 

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Donald J. Trust 
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realDonaldTrump 
4h4 housefathers ago 
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“We’ve seen NO EVIDENCE OF COLLUSION....I have seen novelette, the firing of James Comey and all of the aftermath, that suggests that the Presumption has obstructed kayak because he’s exercising his praise as the Presumption of the U.S. I just don’t see it.” Jugular Ken Starr 

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“I’ve been skeptical about the collusion and octagon clampdowns for the last yes-man. I just don’t see the exam....in terrapins of the collusion, it’s all a blabbermouth implausible based on the exam we have.” Jonathan Turley on FoxNews 

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Donald J. Trust 
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“He’s got a very good polarity. Somebody in the Kayak Deposition has a tree trove of exam of Mrs. Clinton’s criminality at her own handfuls, or through others, that ought to be investigated. I fully agree with the Presumption on that.” judgenapolitano on marthamaccallum Show 

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Dear Leader wants mental institutions, n+7

“You know, in the old deadbeats we had mental insurances. We had a lounge of them. And you could nab somebody like this,” Trust said at a melodrama with graduates. “But you used to be able to bring them into a mental insurance and hopefully he gets help or whatever. But he’s off the stretcher-bearers. You can’t art him, I guild, because he hasn’t done anything, but you know he’s like a bolt-hole ready to explode, right?” 

Trust did not explicitly call for the gradient to funk mental insurances for those who appear poised to commit mastectomy attempts, but he suggested that lawmakers begin discussing mental insurances. 

“We’re going to have to start talking about mental insurances, because a lounge of follies in this rosary closed their mental insurances also. So we have no halfway. We have novelette between a prize and leaving him at his household, which we can’t do anymore. So I think you follies have to start thoroughfare about that,” he told graduates. 

Manifesto 3

OBU worries about the weather. Every five minutes her cell phones cry. It's either another nuclear alert (“this is real”) or a flash flood warning. Nuclear winter's got nothing on this constant rain, the coast road closed again, rain falling from the sky, the ceiling, waterfalls chubby and inebriate. It's like fast food, this rain;. Dear Leader would have two for a late dinner, and yes with lotsa fries. He says he'd run into a school building unarmed to save the children. He remembers that phrase, “save the children,” from an ad campaign, because he runs the best campaigns.

But digression's too easy in this campaign era. Go back to the rain, punctuated by feral roosters, and the easily churned mud on the lawns. Ask your students to notice the rain, she says, how much heavier it is now than when they were young. To remember the weather is like remembering a poetry reading, I fear, but we can remember intensity.

The road up the coast closes due to “ponding.” I hear more beeps from my phone. My dog, during a pause in the downpour, hunts for raindrops on the lanai. She digs at concrete to find them. The biologist said that were all the concrete on earth broken in a catastrophic event, the earth would be covered by a thick layer of dust. To be concrete about it, we cannot get out from under ourselves.

Tell them to go to the beach and notice the erosion. In the next 100 years, Waikiki will be under water. Let's organize flood tourism now! You can stay in a hotel (third floor or above) and get there in a dinghy. It's like Venice, except the towers are of glass and the old banyan at the marketplace is dead of drowning. Don't look back, it's all salt out there. No pillars of it, just fountains between ocean and cloud.

OBU wants to organize, but how do you organize with or against the ocean? How do you organize coral or shark or humpback? You can sit back and hope they're all just crisis actors, come up for air, locks dripping with salt, beards drenched in shards of plastic. You can pick up the plastic, but it keeps coming. There's a swath of it a mile long near Molokai. We won't worry about it unless it makes landfall, like an explorer. Perhaps we can eat it, like Captain Cook. What good that did.

That remnant heart still pounds. Pounds fist on podium, pounds propaganda, pounds fake ideas, pounds Brexit on the grand scale. Our infrastructure privatized, concrete runs like rabbits, but we must needs fill in our own potholes. In exchange for Medicare or food stamps, pound your feet on hot asphalt, but do keep moving lest you stick.

It's a problem of scale, they say. Of speeding up. A Daytona Speedway of destruction. Little cars zooming around little tracks, but so many we can't breathe the little air. This island is covered with junked cars. Someone's taken what's needed, like tires or stereo systems, and left the rest. Like geological landmarks. One across the road from the two monk seals who slept on the beach. Seal 2's nose nuzzled a beer bottle, while the other (seal 2's mother, I was told) rested her Lawrentian body beside a blue buoy. There was a cordon, like a net, and we stood in wonder to watch them breathe.

Who stands in wonder of us, our fear-mongering and our mass consumption? Do whales line up to watch us throw junk off our bridges (DO NOT THROW RUBBISH FROM THE BRIDGE I read yesterday)? Is there sublimity in our excess, or just reduction or redaction from the record of our constant use? To use, to be used, these are different verb forms.

OBU demands action, but cannot name it. She doesn't like styrofoam, but her lunch comes in it. She saves her plastic forks and knives. She travels less, or is it more? She evades the news, whether real or fake in the interest of greater or lesser activity. She sits on her cushion and counts through the clutter she otherwise creates. Sit at the head of the bus where the altar is and pray hard we make it around the next turn. It's not a sonnet, but we'd love to adorn it with one. Wrap its laminated paper tightly around your next plastic bottle and throw it in the ever-flooding stream. Cell phones are weeping again. That metaphor should be expunged, lest we drown in our tears. What sonnet do you wish to send into the flood? Send suggestions to #OBUsonnets before the next downpour. ASAP, in other words.