endoscopy
and I recumbent like
La Grande Odalisque
awaiting the Turk
a probe insults my slipway
past the Pillars of Sphincter
insidious unto itself
swells the piping with air
shafts my splay
quickens the blood rush
cranks my eyes wide,
stands down the brain
like the tourniquet
on a mustang’s lip
adrenalin’s strigil
decals my cheeks,
gives lust a day off
at least
I get my arse wiped
and my farts detonate
an exit from the surgery
dignity sucks anyway
In Henry’s Keep
I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary . . .
There shall I rest secure from force and fraud
Henry V1. 111, iv.iv
“Aye and I too with all my heart.
Declaim for my anonymity, you
clarion impostors, and find me
hermitage in the theatre fug amid
such an industry of concentration
as tamps all approaches, murders
ring tones, proscribes analogue
and digital, mutes iPods, MP3s;
reschedules reality, muffles the
world’s pommelling at the door.
Let me sit safe on a frith-stool
that my mind nestles into slow dust
to watch tragedians from a priest
hole, or at this boundary cross
elbowed by pale oblivion; and
though a treason against utility
for a few o’erbrimming hours
I may claim this right of asylum
for a virtual fellow on the run.”
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