The sky is so high that I get nauseous looking down at the earth.
You guessed it—I am in heaven.
I am not even dead.
There was this puffed-up man,
A thin doughboy,
Striding the globe like an inflatable colossus beneath me.
It was Obama.
He juggled a bunch of his failures:
His Nobel Prize, the Presidency, the economic bad news,
His military weakness and his collection
Of the bewildering cheers of the brain dead Democrats.
I have brain damage from boxing.
My waves are flat like the earth in better days.
The Democrats make me seem fleet of mind and intellectual.
Health care is not healthy under Obama’s rein and he rides it
And us into the ground like hoofs on muddy bongos.
He charges us stable fees to be our own horses and die in our stalls.
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