Science Lesson

I peer at the photographic image of a primordial plant root,
with its vascular tendrils searching for the home it will never
find, as it has been so inconsiderately yanked out of its soil
by the brute force of a human hand.

It lay so compliantly, placed there by the sanitized eye of
the photographer, against a white titanium background;
so brightly lit and overly exposed. Its insignificant, nameless
plant matter, with leaves so young and green and tender,
which grow out of its upper, woody, bulbous torso, I barely
care to notice. But the roots, so coagulated and crawly and
uninviting, suck me in like a tornado.

Each thread of root vein is clung to by miniscule dirt clods,
making it look like a bunch of filthy hair pulled out of a rusty
old drain pipe. Yet, this tangled root mess is what draws me
in so.

And then I realize it is roots like these which I aspire to
immerse my uninterrupted limbs, and entangle them into
this wild network of directionless, disenfranchised webbing
of near forgotten purpose, which allows me to meander
aimlessly along, across a devoid-conscious, blank-slated
journey; where within lies a place to cling, to slumber and
to pass the days through the gentle touch of crumbly,
moistened earth; while growth spurts simply happen by
season, with no influence or responsibility on my part, as
I am cradled in peaceful slumber in the labyrinth of these
creeping, crawling arms called home.

Immortal Fever

Frankenstein turned to more conventional materials,
after being handed a disciplinary slap on the wrist
for bad behavior. And though he wished to go back
to his hobby of choice, he put away childish toys
such as, disembodied limbs and things, and turned
his attention to clay and rock. It was within these
confines that he created what was intended to be
his masterpiece. But something went terribly awry.

Torso first, he threw to the ground, armfuls of soggy
clay; one pile slapped on top of the other, until a
massive blob of the congealed substance sat in the
center of his laboratory like a melting snowman
surrounded by defunct, decaying equipment.

Poor Frankenstein, it was the best he could muster
up, as he had no artistic training whatsoever. Not
to mention he was more accustomed to playing
God with the Devils discards.

For his finishing touch, he carefully raised the
planetary shaped globe of the lily white, hand
buffed piece of alabaster, so aptly chosen and honed
to mirror the memory of her soft, porcelain-like
complexion. He heaved it up, then placed it neatly
in the indentation earmarked for where the neck
should have been. At first it set into its resting place
like a neatly hatched egg. But as he stepped back
in admiration, he saw, to his utter shock and horror,
that his beloved's assimilation was beginning to
sink, then tilt, then tumble head first, straight toward
the ground. It broke into even quarters, leaving
behind the armature of a beheaded tragedy.

In anger and frustration, he hollered and spat
and kicked at the thing. At one point his foot stuck
itself so deeply into the muck of the clay, that he
couldn't pull it out, then fell backwards trying.

At that point he pulled himself up, ran down his
never-ending gothic flight of stairs, and scampered
straight out into the frigid, voluminous night of
forested darkness and isolation.

What began as primal grunts, mutated into his
torturous howl, which reverberated deep into the
slumbering night. What he retrieved in return was
the feedback of his own empty echo. But with it
carried a solemn message between the distant vowels.
His one true love, having been but a mere mortal, was
without a doubt, never coming back!

Limbo Light

She had gauze wrapped gifts orbiting beneath
the flaps of her hammered shut eyelids. But her
back grew tired and weary. So down she lay, in
flat suspension, cruciform fashion, quiver-less.
She's been that way for one year now. Curiosity
seekers have come and gone. But with never a
change, not a twitch nor a murmur, they cast their
interests elsewhere. Now all has gone quiet, as
their empty hearted footsteps fade into the
smoldering dust.

On a hunch, I stayed behind, standing alone;
a faithful pioneer beside this modern day sleeping
beauty miracle with a twist. And here I remain today.
While studying her for my thesis of the soul, I've
caught, out of the corner of my eye, the rising and
the falling of her two veiled orbs as they cling to
their neatly faceted sockets; like a heaving,
exhausted chest, suffering to keep the outside out
and the inside in. And now I've come to realize this is
really a lot of hard work for her. On one remarkable
occasion, I could see between the slit of a lid. It was
there that I caught a glimpse of the glimmer; like a
sliding laser beam, meticulously and repeatedly
copying the script of her unfulfilled destiny.

Now here's a hint of fair warning to any unsuspecting
passerby. Stand clear when she decides to awaken.
Her blast of light so humbly withheld, might just roar
forth and blind you!