Frankenstein’s Bastard – A.G. Diedericks

Richard Rothwell’s portrait of Mary Shelley ~ 1840
Frankenstein’s Bastard

I malformed
from aborted bloodbaths
to bite the hands
of a kleptomaniac midwife

Dear Frankenstein

Do I,
embolden your bestial apathy
with my woes?
Am I,
merely a pantomime
for the parochial aristocracy?

fated to this warped pestilence — the stench of patricide gestates in my throat

My heart is a contaminant; an abberation that anchors the intonation of a lover’s gaze

felicity dwindles in my wake,
it dare not breach
the elongated visage of my
consumption

I am shrouded
by an opulent darkness
that fosters the penury of my soul

there’s no alienist for what lives inside of me

My bones scythe a fissure in empiric science

I am the reification of death:
cobbled by inviolable skin
with ears to inoculate the
incantation of an exorcist
My iris blackens the convex of your erstwhile sun

Halcyon birds

Plummets where i walk

. . .

Dear Frankenstein

You, who molded me from madness;
map me a path to digress from this
metastasized matter
place me in an era,
where the kinship of poetry
have not forsaken me
Where even I,
tread with shadows bereft

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