Rancid Bread Poem by John Sensele

Stacks of piles of guile of a plastic smile
Can't spook, in a brook, an erudite mind
Propelled for miles on end on a pile
Inches high, inches wide in a grind
Primed to mislead, primed to bind
Sages to encrypted messages disguised as truce
Instruments but intended, at the core, to jeopardize peace
With intentions and machinations fed
On a sanctimonious diet delivered through a sluice
Alongside a morsel of biltong and scraps of rancid bread.