Donald Trump Points to Melania During the RNC Convention, 18 July 2016
By Andrew Rihn
A sparring match, a setting, and nothing else. Jab, cross, punch to the body. Beside. My name has been called: this one, this time. A silhouette scrutinized. A jab to the head: the private sector, celebrity adjacent. Thank you. Isn’t she. I am. Speak of me in tongues. This time. This here. The upper cut, the left cross. Floodlights and confetti and nothing else. Speak of me.
Donald Trump Points to the Sun During the Solar Eclipse, 21 August 2017
By Andrew Rihn
As if to say: look at this. Possession. This sun journey, year long, earth bound. As if to say: I am here. Regardless of your antipathy, your aversion, your anger. Regardless. As if to say, the possessed: cold air, foul odor, thrown voice. Like shadow, this penumbra, antagonist. Demon, Ego, Icarus. The sky above and the mud below. As if a stalagmite patience might leave the cave, arrogant and unseemly, reaching.
Donald Trump Points to His Own Head While Speaking to Reporters, 26 October 2017
By Andrew Rihn
Shimmer, not flicker. Not fictions. Please. And you. What you see: a snake, a tail, a tongue. What. You see. See what you want. Breaking: to see, to say. Yes, for the love of God. Fortune, the future. Yes. For the lash: not out, but in. But obvious. But gumshoe. What. What you need: you need to know. Tactics: not forged, but mine. This is gold.
Andrew Rihn is a writer of scholarly articles, essays and poems. He is the author of several chapbooks, including America Pops and Fizzes (sunnyoutside press) and The Rust Belt MRI (Pudding House). Most recently, he co-authored, along with his wife, the writer Donora A. Rihn, the chapbook The Marriage of Heaven and Hell: An Election Cycle (Moria Books/ Locofo Chaps). Together, they live in Portage Lakes, Ohio, with their two rescue dogs.
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