Ben, some have anointed you new lord;
big points with many of them you scored.
You are no Herman Cain clone—
you much more softly drone. That you attained MD
strains all credulity.

Ben, your mouth running gives me a scare,
though you blow no smoked explosive air.
If one should explore your mind, they’d find, after it’s mined:
there’s little that you know—each mutterance will show.

You smoothly bray, unlike D. Trump, whose sputum flows free.
Not “yuge” you say like The D; up your poll comes Carly!

Ben, why don’t people turn you away—
are they listening to what you say?!
You who’s loose a screw or two—
more like a loose-screws slew.
Guess you’ll go from “godsend” to campaign that’s a dead end:
godsend > dead end.
You kenned.