Trump's Dream
10/20/16
4:20 am
He is standing at the marble podium of a massive, columned, marble edifice.
A crowd of millions stretches before him, so grand he can not see the end, yet formed into a faceless edifice of its own--no individuals, just a dark formless mass.
The wind slightly blows his hair, which has the rich fullness of youth.
"There is only one in the debate now!" he says. "She's in jail! Where she always belonged!"
There is a deafening cheer, barely distinguishable from a scream, & he is in a jail cell, directly in the center of the Roll Call grounds of New York Military Academy.
The bugle calls morning drills. The Headmaster shouts "All home!"
The cadets gather. "I can't get out!" he screams. "I can't!" His face reddens as he bangs the door of his cage.
Roy Cohn appears at the door. "Pick the lock," he whispers, with a snide, conspiratorial, who-gives-a-damn-for-the-rules glee.
Trump looks around his neck. Hanging from a gold lanyard is one of the nails that he & his father would swipe from competing sites in morning Brooklyn walks.
"Put it in" says Cohn, who has become Marla, who has become a pastiche of many of his forced, coerced & unforced conquests. The door opens with a loud squeak; a seemingly endless spray of rust falls to the floor.
"Don't worry" says Cohn. "It happens to all of us."
He wanders into the Courtyard. He is standing before Trump Tower. A group of Polish workers, laborers, carpenters are blocking the gate.
"What are you doing here? You're undocumented!"
The Foreman marches forward. "Everyone's time comes to pay up, Donald."
An army is revealed behind the Foreman. Casino workers, displaced landowners, unpaid bankers, their families & children, hundreds, thousands, then millions of lies, each pushing him towards the water, towards his grandfather's landing point in Queens.
"What do I do now?" asks Trump
"Leave them in suspense" says Cohn with a wry, leering smile, & points to the dark water below.
