In A Swirl

Thanks to you Donald we are in a swirl. Witnessing the shredding of what was. Hokusai painted his great wave in the mid 19th century. Japan was on the verge. America is now under the surge and the foam. What our Founders wrought you have put asunder. 

Thanks Donald, now please leave. Thanks for inadvertently reminding us of the fragile beauty we have lost. The blue and white woodcut is bleeding. That is our flag, Donald, you have bloodied. You have pried open our eyes even as you defaced the sacred parchment.

But Vincent took that swirl and made of it his starry night. He lifted the wave into a magnificent frenzy. He yellowed us with his sunflowers. Now I am sipping absinthe with Hokusai under Van Gogh's yellow awning in the night café. Donald is rendered as a gnarled tree; his portrait, a pair of encrusted shoes.

After I’m gone Van Gogh's iris will continue to vibrate. The wreckage of our ship in the churning sea will be repaired under an all-seeing eye in the cyclonic sky.