With our lips we keep our lips sharp
pursed whetting stones to push the air
over the bleeding edge  
of feigned civility.
        
caught up in whiplash   we act in tandem
jamming signals from signs
that read " don't tread '

carping 'bout the vitriol of honest venom
our black adders    subtract     to replenish

frothing at the mouth of the Ganges
To be at last

diminished.