Trump Morning, A Grief Sequence

Fuzzy numbness of stun bubble burst.
Sticky and gross, it clung-stuck
to the lung, tongue, and heart.
Visions of a white man painting
a house gold and gorging
on all the bodies he can buy.
Talk turned to faithless
electors, inevitable heart attacks,
life jackets of the mind.
I cried and took a walk, I cried
and went to work, I cried
and rode the train. I choked
then said enough.
Cast off the shock
of the aggrieved.
I thought I was woke
but that was a dream.
Gunk rub of the eyes.
One leg at a time.
Fuck Trump.
I'm rising.