PDB

Swallow your water,
drink up your wine,
turn that TV on believe
it's just fine
if you've got a blind eye,
and sleep through the truth.

They’re all so polite,
so couth snarky smiling
like miles of sharks
rising through tides of lost souls
lining streets, bumming cigarettes,
or caught on some distant sand
with only a helmet and gun
to protect from the hand
of someone's god.

Inside the hearing room
water's fresh iced;
niceties belie the knives
in smoothie passion sweet
as saccharine.