Late Night Tuesday, November 3rd, 2020 (a poem-prophecy in which I predict the election result for those with ears to hear)



Yeats has a question,

and I just love Barbara Stanwyck, don’t you?

So the first thing I’m getting is this:

White is the color of loose saints’


and of atheism,

and blue-white the color of snow

in shadow.

So things are getting warmer.


BS’s derriere bulges beneath a scarlet skirt,

and there is also a four inch wide


around her very tiny waist, which is also white

and wrong

–so yes

this may be a hint

to riddles of evolution, Rev. 17:3

and the election’s outcome.

For it is a dragon that BS rides.

No Statue of Liberty cometh as she.

And in answer to your question, Mr. Yeats,

Donald Trump.


It all started with a soft mat of cells.

They grew more numerous at a muddy bottom.

They bubbled upward to the white sun,

bleeding rank gasses, and here we are breathing them.


By such arrive the secrets. Of dearth. Of light.

So 1933.


In surety–as in #4surely–the Joker wears the

thorned corona,

and those mailed-

in ballots are to be watched.

The white saints are preying upon them

with great conviction.

Their importance seems to be rising

up up up

as in a dust devil of def; as in a file beginning with D

–so yes, Mr. Yeats, I am a-frayed. Everywhere his cult responds

to a trumpet

which I do not understand

and they alone can hear.



I think he has risen! Can you see that he has risen?

I believe he has risen, too, but I don’t know

whether he has risen enough!

I know you want this, Barb. Ever since Roosevelt, you’ve

been waiting

for this hour. Who’s stuck

with the card of the drowned Phoenician, tell me!

You know, no?


Well, Yeats is at the Ouija Board.


He’s double-checking now.

He says?

Right again.

Which means?

Down again.


Alice (Lewis Carroll) | Public Domain Super Heroes | Fandom

About Santi Tafarella

I teach writing and literature at Antelope Valley College in California.
This entry was posted in aesthetics, atheism, beauty, climate change, coronavirus, donald trump, meditation, poetry, Politics, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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