Frankenstein's Monster

In paradise, the monster
has no face.
His heavy shoes scrape against
the hostile public sphere. He is
out-cast, shelter’s shadow.

He lumbers across personless reaches.
As the real prime mover, he
is a hole of light.

--The Monster Speaks--

"I felt the first charge
joining my partial bodies,
light behind my blindfold.
I reached to embrace my father,
begged him for a name."

--The Monster Exits--

He might have been gently wakened,
thick curtains drawn, a dark-wood room,
only column shafts
of warmless light.
His skin is cave-cold and bright.

He id not beg to know, but for a name.
Breathing in, expanding
from all centers
into great black lungs.

One dying universe exhales
for the next hot beginning.
Life feasts on death,
and trembles in
the dark.

But darkness is the beginning of everything.