Orangemandias

I met a traveller from a broken land,
Who said—“Two vast and Trumpless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk an orange visage lies, whose frown,
And botoxed lip, and sneer of cold backhands,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the hearts that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Orangemandias, SPAD of Vlad;
Look on my Deals, ye MAGA, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal prick, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands, stretch far away.

*With thanks to whoever made this image