Exiles from a dysfunctional global pipe-dream
of borderless corporate matriarchies,
multi-kulti nonsense and data-driven diversity
where virtue-signaling despots ruled
and those so confused they didn’t know their own gender
competed for victim-status as they shrieked,
where rainbow torches on the filthy walls
smoldered with toxic smoke
barely illuminating the fragments
of computer carcasses we had to step over,
we fled the oppression
of passive-aggressive elitists
suffering from Trump Derangement Syndrome
to found a pure republic, based on poetry, goodwill and faith in God.
We emerged from the labyrinthine caverns and malodorous tunnels
into the light right outside the cave:
Clear, strong patriarchal light
purifying the fresh air.
We breathe deeply.
Once I saw some Vikings
sail the sea looking for Diet Coke
only to find angry gulls and mothers
squawking in parking lots
as the dust of the gentle hills disappeared
down the unpaved road
of rolling Scandinavian seas.
I was emotionally engaged once . . .
but she was a neurotic feminist poet, so I broke it off
and moved to Kekistan where (thanks be to Kek)
I married my THREE Kekistani brides:
Where are you from? Not just geographically, but emotionally, physically, spiritually?
Maybe you are from Vikings and the sea and diet coke and angry gulls in parking lots.
Maybe you are from gentle hills and angry mothers
and dust disappearing down an unpaved road.
And having come from there, where are you now?
Ah—how I recall those torrid Kekistani nights . . .
Whoops—I meant FREE KEKISTAN !