Patchwork Man

Not everything I write ends up getting published. Sometimes things get cut from the final draft. “Patchwork Man” is one of those unlucky “darlings” I had to kill off.

Like with my first three collections, I thought about adding a poem to Falling Apart. Not a sonnet, like what I usually write, but a less structured poem that plays around with form. It was fun to write, but ultimately it was not a good fit for the collection overall. Although I fought to keep it – for a time – I took this strange little poem out of the final draft.

So, with Falling Apart coming out in less than a week, this month’s short story for the blog is the one that didn’t make the final cut.

Here I sit, a Patchwork Man

            All alone

                        Understand

I am made of pieces of the ones that came before

Skin is grey

            Maybe green

                        All the colours in between

As it sloughs away from what is left of all my bones

Here I rot

            Still I live

                        Nothing left inside of me

Save unending hunger for the meat of all my kin

I am but a mystery

            Science has no

                        Place for me

I just want to die but they won’t let me if I beg

Marry Shelley’s Frankenstein

            Never could

                        Be my match

I am far superior in every way that counts

Although I will feel no pain

            In my soul

                        In my bones

I know that what’s happened is a plague upon this earth

Lose an arm, leg falls off

            Eye pops out

                        You get the gist

They will just rebuild me with whatever parts they find

I was legion

            Now am one

                        Don’t know who I was before

Nothing but a starving piece of meat upon a slab

Who

            Are

                        You

                                    To

                                                Tell

                                                            Me

                                                                        What

                                                                                    I

                                                                                                Am

First they had no name for me

            Now I see

                        What is real

They were never going to let me have a happy end

Poke and prod

            Fill the cup

                        Beakers filled with dried up sludge

I’m the first, the last, so they will tear me all to shreds

Science needs its answers, see

            They don’t care

                        What I did

All they care is that they can prevent some more of me

So I scream

            Rip my chains

                        Left an arm behind, oh well

All that really matters is that I still have my teeth

Bite the first on the throat

            Hear them die

                        Gurgling sounds

Boy, that tastes so good it is my first real meal in weeks

Kill some more

As I please

                        I am what you’ve done to me

Maybe you should all just learn to leave this shit alone

Science comes with consequence

            Here I am

                        Not for long

Gunmen in the doorway aim but miss the vital parts

Hit my brain

            The only way

                        What else would produce my death

Did no one watch a movie in the years before The Fall?

Here

            It

                        Comes

                                    The

                                                Taste

                                                            Of

                                                                        Death

                                                                                    Again

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