Sawdust
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.