Jihad Donald Trump Style

The glory of America,
now heats up
   with agitation poised
to strike on the brink
sans legislation incites humiliation,
    which goads desecration
as fete accompli chink
   in armor of Democratic
rubric, constituting capitalistic
   ethic, generic iconoclastic,
and jingoistic logic,
   nor budging an inch
when mandating masses
swallow his drink
what huff huck –
this belligerent, dominant and
   fervent hell raiser
doth bungle in the jungle
decreeing tacit
Mar shall law fast
as a shutterfly eyewink
as his cosmic crotch
grab doth put Venus
under his sway
   with his Mercury hill temperament
   pitches the orbit
of planet Earth tubby comb
out of balance
   infected by hiz anti
Ju pit er damnations,
excoriations, fulminations
   Huzzah sing how
whiz derriere didst
Sat urn simultaneously
   crushing crucible
as an Uranus
   indiscriminately plop
ping two hundred
fifty pounds off flesh
   dub ling down humming
his favorite Neptune
   that dost affect Pluto
hoc crass sea 
   repeating self coined motto –
I yam all mighty,
therefore no fink
   simply commandeering
the reins of control,
a one man military intelligence
groupthink hut triad
   and true dyed in wool
rip pug in ant guise zing rogue
   rejoicing tuff fool,
governing and hoodwink
king the die hard fans
of dictatorial, linkedin
and monarchist ink
cube bus thriving
on wielding indomitable aggression
   practiced in the
Art of the Deal
incorporating an unanticipated jink
iron fist rule reigning
down vis a vis pro
pens heave lee and prop hen city
   flashing hiz seal of approval,
which scribbled signature
   doth not smooth monkey sir vay
puzzling kink
   boot his frenzy to bulldoze
catastrophic, formulaic, and illogic
   spells these United States
of America twill become hell
   in a hand basket with nary
a trace of the grit of link
   kin, the sixteenth president
(whose ruggedly pioneering
frontier existence)
   found him steady and strong,
plus soft hearted as pelt o’ mink
the epitomy of this forty fifth
elected commander in mischief
   a twenty first century
Drake yule ha – albeit nink
   con poop – barely describes
this oafish piranha making waves
   (Whereby Hurricane Katrina
seems like child’s play),
   where even a toddler,
could out rule, out smart,
and out think
   thee maniac pampered
by don patriarch Fred,
who fawned, doted
   and bow wowed over this
magnate trick son, whose rapacious,
   reprehensible and riling actions
generated when Melanie doth wink.