Frankenstein, surreal, satire

DANCING WITH THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN

was heading due west
when the wheel
started to splinter, come
away in my hand

seemed like a vortex out there
demonic triangle
         portal pulling me in
ghost ships
     flying dutchmen following
me into
   that gorgeous abyss
(sphere of the zombie, land
of the dead)

where, to be fair, I would find
locale most congenial
to consort
with Frankenstein’s creature’s
bride

the two of us in true tango,
monstering out first midnight together

drone
of supreme dissonance
about to
switch off my brain

and yet how
we spin
across the floor
illusion of
free movement
delusion of light speed

whilst
    eyes still locked inward
split, almost dismembered
the limbs
scrabbling for somewhere
treading
     ice water dragged across
the spectrum, shuttled forward
back like
      a ball in ping pong between
what we are told
are complete hyperbolic poles

and now for
our videofest, hook up
for the podcast

think up
some catastrophic leveling
skimming like a
cruise missile, like
an angel of abomination
targeting
all hearts if
we have them

as I repent all
my falsehoods, so
shamefully having lied to you
to preserve my power
keep
my inverted commas innocence

not a deus ex machina
but brutal blade of a guillotine
falls and released
it is
just
the end of the poem