This is history! [part two] - Duncan Jones

Wouldn’t you let me in where the coat gapes

to the clay pit where I found the snapped owl spine, scuppering gentil casuistry

        We're doing magic and scraping away with the teaspoon

until the writing happens to be pristine. Glamour, spittle shined and scattered willfully

                                           the steady head imperfected

                   I don’t want this any more: folded arms a shield; feathery blue veins at the foot.
              I keep writing anyway

                        There is a singing like fly shit spread across the roof of the mouth    gathering at the fingers, tipped

The clay pit gives way to luscious prejudice here.                                 How many historians coughed up the blond hairballs how many ached after knocking one too many off

Let down your hair your hair so that we may tell like wet eyed boys with our treachery wrapped up and bowed: our way through.

 

 

the wooden boy is a curious fellow, do dig in.