On History (Number One.)

History is in the eye of the beer holder.
In the face of the bloke who smokes dope.
Blossoming around fields like the ones below.

belching from furnaces hot with coal
irradiating an unborn childs scull

History is turning white,
history is powdery,
history is cocaine
your main man
your whitehouse lottery.

It's no joke.

Let's give it a poke.

History is in the thigh of the goat herder.
Sharing some base with the bloke who smokes dope.
Borrowed from fields (You'd find magic mushrooms in the ones below.)
harvested to grow it.

it's shots from the sky
that make people die

The whitehouse lottery.

It's no joke.

Let's give it a poke.

It may just burst.

(To give something a really good poke you will need:

1./ A large force.

2./ A small surface with which to administer that large force upon that something.)

History is bricks and mortar, love,
it's what you need to build your future.
It's a determinist reackoning on materialist research.
History is something that fits like a glove
a red blunt instrument for beating back force.

It's baked beans on toast.

it's empty shoes on sand dunes
burned out mopeds by the side of the road

History is turning white.

Let's give it a poke.

Birds.