Strife Arbiter

Oil slick waves atop a skull face/mask. A halo for a 
grin claims sincerity purest, bad news scrolling across marquee slate 
teeth like an aesthetic cliche. Smiling eyes like four hundred tongued 
courtesies. And you're cataracted at a green light, hearing only the 
feel-good headlines and ginger catch phrases heard three blocks down the 
road. Flies to the prophet, bread to the spectator.