Uncle History is chained to words
Tied to avatars
He’s infused in church glass
He spins in the astronomers’
Ones and twos
And though
He can’t describe things himself
His digestion does the talking
Remember Chaplin’s stomach
How it outed him
When he was being polite
Its that uneasy burthen
Of intestines
It drove Stalin nuts
He heard bowels
All the time
You have to listen
It can’t be controlled
Planet of the Blind 