Expound to me the finer points of man
How he may be carved up, dished, and jointed
At the table of his enemies:
Moreover, how to keep him
In the dark
Without knowledge
Or remark;
Consult the book,
Yet nothing find,
Instead employ
A crooked mind —
Peace. Already the tale unwinds
And rolls down to its end,
Now tell the king the queen hath dreams
Before she knoweth she hath dreams.
The Journal is a section where I post weekly poems responding to Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall trilogy. Here’s last week’s edition: