A poem by SAM HUDDLESTONE.   When handfuls of human teeth are spat out of Earth’s warming belly – with all the speed of a mounted bicycle wheel – spinning when spun – they clatter against glass shop fronts in what the newspapers call a ‘holy percussive splendour.’   Older necks crane idly from above dropping down and ‘what the hell is that?’ dances in the street to the sound of enlightening and enamel frailty are soon stopped with too much force.     The policeman, who refuses to be one, removes his helmet and prays solemnly to Apollo; the famous librarian shakes a wrinkly fist at an image of Diana, and tracks the cringey way it’s all been adopted not quite right.   I try to kick through the brick but only provide a rhythm stronger – a boot clattering cements – a tooth led orchestra – in such…Continue Reading