The Hole Truth by Kevin Connelly

Imbibe by the keg, yet abide by dregs,
who’ll dredge for a drip and stab for a drag;
a sniff of the stuff, that snuff, is the rub,
of men who have lied, while wetting a rag.
They read every line, accepted as fact;
a sledge and a fist for the roughs in pubs!
A puff of the drug, that duff, in the pot;
in a sense, sentenced- A picture is framed!
There exists a schist, a schism, you get
a gist, I suggest, you give it a shot.
The kettle is hot; a vision of Set’s
Armageddon plots, while the getting’s got.
Am I getting cold? I’m betting I’m not.
It exits the poles; a sieve leaves you strained.