as corrected by erik sanko
My head is filled with sawdust
glass eyes of vacant black bulbs.
And from my perch of red rust
the world contracts and unfolds.
There was a liar with the great incisors
shimmering through the steaming geyser
of platitudes and of pasteurisers.
He's sincere, so sincere.
There was a bird with the brilliant plummage
suffering through the airborn sewage
of black clouds and of black perfummage.
Sincere, she's so sincere.
There was a flock that would only follow.
Any shit they'd taste they'd swallow.
You'd never know that their heads were hollow,
sincere, so sincere.