The strident cadence
of the hissing syntax
of the slithering serpent.
The mini god’s constant
re-reference to His
near divine worthiness.
The repeated “I”.
The ever inflated
adjetives of self,
promising what
He Thinks
He Knows
we need.

These predict a speakers
aptitude for personal
aggrandizement
at the expense of
His followers.

Heed the hidden venom
pumping through His heart,
by listening, closely,
to His lies,
as promises disguised.
Hear, in fear,
the echoed roars
of your countrymen,
your neighbors,
as they,
legs spread,
become His whores.