Lois Elaine Heckman

He is the cotton candy vendor:
he offers deceit.
He adds the syrup of empty words
to the sugar of his lies,
coloring their falseness false pink
and diluting them
in the waters of his pretense.
He spins the mellifluous concoction
on a cardboard cone for fools,
twirling it in the cauldron
of his naked necessity,
weaving counterfeit dreams
into a rosy cloud cushion
to offer to compliancy.
The first taste is sweet,
promising future contentment,
but the flavor soon dissolves
into the unpalatable aftertaste
of persistent, smoldering
heartburn.