Enwrapped in velveteen swaths
Jagged edges are concealed from sight
Setting an inviting trap by
Making something wrong
Appear as something right.
Bright lights obscuring
Rather than illuminating
Drench the proscenium
And those posturing bravely
But inwardly cowering
Behind it.
The debates begin
Without acknowledgment
That deception
Is a sin.
Trading scripts and makeup art
Candidates are wound up
To recite, on cue,
The equivalent of a
Verbal fart;
Voters powered by
Frustration and faith
Drape their cheap theatrics
In a hallowed wraith.
The velvet has grown ragged and stiff
As the talkers have become
What therapists call “as if.”