Interviewed by spies / The uni of lore

When you’re interviewed by spy,

and she’s dying for you to die,

and her bosses have almost 

already

done away with

your being – and your seeing, and your doing 

through the years – and 

through the years 

all your writing

and rhyming did save you

from the ultimate disgrace

which the 

mace of the 

state 

tried to force you fuckingly

to make – and 

commit and

submit and

retake, and

stake wildly –

so in the interests of their quieter whirled 

she then tried more

times to unfurl your gone 

mad, but even as her 

beauty did [confuse and bemuse

{you] realised in time}

the ruse and the game,

and not in your name would this happen at all:

you were finally secure in the uni of

lore, and in that 

uni of lore 

you … would … stay.

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