Peter Manson


(from) The Baffle Stage

to say each splinter from my thighbone oboe
inoculates a cop with hepatitis
implies this shaved and custom-stretched bonobo
is a vertebrate and if it is then shite is

ambulant faeces in default of me
defer our fall from the edenic beer gut
with side effects of mainlined Dairylea
and Babybels imported through the butt

to give a bum’s rush to the cheese effect
this hypertensive crisis of a nation
stages its pharmaceutically-correct
MAOI-ist self-denunciation

a tapeworm munching through a lonesome toalie
distilled a richer shit from that rich shit
and in that tapeworm’s shit a young E. coli
seized by nostalgia for the infinite

implores the self same sun that terminates
its one attempt at photosynthesis
to warm the cell wall till it levitates
encysted to a wind-borne chrysalis

and blinds the one eye of a one-eyed baby
who resurrects a sleeping gene in shock
to guide him on his bat-like baby way by
means of clicks bounced off the Artex’d gyproc

behind each bedroom wall, above the ceiling
his mind’s eye sees an image made of echoes:
five babies — one inverted — the unfeeling
shag-pile suppressed a sixth beneath his shoes

all five are blurred by sound-transparent skin
the one outside the house has an amazing
vestigial interpenetrating twin
caused by reflections from the double-glazing

in shouting down the thing it would supplant
the babe cleaves to a histrionic “I” con
-structed in the air by jubilant
assumption of a compound sonic icon

I is this constellated cupid stunt
I sees no evil and though you dismiss I
there is no you for I to diss: I runt
and quintuplets, I caespitose narcissi.




©Peter Manson 2009