A Pretense He Just Made!

A pretending glib
raises a fib
sun is down 
the corn is melting

Rich in snips.
Tolls at sips:
of frames,
suddenly gliding!

Strenuous at dawn,
covered and forlorn
the grits of sepulchers
snit in fits.

He saw the truck
getting rid of rubbish
right at the street 
where the torrential water
had appeased
his taste 
to fill!

Will i stay? 
Or will i leave?
It seems he's here 
to stay and believe: 

That, the truck, 
dumped the waste,
at the top of the gate,
carrying its feud,
machinations of civilians,
trying to blaspheme him, 
with oblivion.