My eye sockets are beds

where my eyeballs sleep

and my ears are buds

for the buzzing bees dancing

and my nose is an ornament

sucking up the space

between you and me

and the entire social race

you have no face

just the skin and bones

of the scareman

and a brain lobed

like a will be deadman

black as coal are your irises

but not coal, but burnt coal

ashes, not the fresh kind

given as presents

and the knife that cuts

is like a razor, straight

to shave across the nights

burgeoning crops

that we sowed long ago.

But will be reaped

making the day

bald ad naked

bared all to see.