The Sad Mutant…

breeze blows on the scrub plains...

———

Metal cables hold their skinless grasp…

Tethered like rats within shiny compartments…

——-

In the darkest night I plan my escape….

The devices are pulled out with a dry, popping noise…

arms and hands a moonscape of scars….

I am searched for but not found….

——

Desperately running for the fields…

To lose my self within infinity…

Endless plains of scrubby grass…

trees, plants…growth…all things growing…

A mysterious landscape so alien to one as quicksilver as me….

But…primal urges drag me on…

——

I am whole again….

Skin ripped from my body so pink underneath…

the wind slaps and tears at me with the gentleness of a kind surgeon….

I am me, but I am not myself….

——

Living in two worlds for now…

with a tug I see my hand…

Still wrapped in death…still part of the machinery…

Sighing, I walk the razors edge between two worlds…

Never a part of either….

But, always a part of both…

——

David L. Whitman 04/11/2012 from under a sky so blue…

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7 thoughts on “The Sad Mutant…

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