Mad Science

   Revenge is a constant source of motivation   Robert A. Bastard
                                  (and disappointment)   Kathy kick-me Jo

Lightning sizzled over a neglected mansion 
that pulled me down its path, lumpy
and alive like the loose soil of fresh graves 
sprouting bony fingers that groped 
at my ankles.  Lightning scratched
my eyeballs when a parched breeze 
smacked my face with a thorny branch.

I came to wearing a green velvet gown, 
my red hair braided with ribbons of pure gold.  
A stone table sprinkled with black and white 
roses was set for dinner in front of the fireplace 
at the foot of my bed.  

The door schreached open and a candle entered 
the room, poised in the immaculate glove 
of a beautiful man.  His hair was a shock 
of silver sparking against midnight-blue eyes.  

Something grabbed inside my chest, clutched 
ribs and made me follow him, the color of his eyes 
increasing as we walked to the table.  He threw back 
his arm, spinning a whirlpool of black satin, and sat down.  
*There's something about a man in a cape . . .*  

He cut each piece of meat with a precise swipe of his knife.  
When he chewed, every aspect of his face 
strengthened and his breathing quickened. 
Scarlet candles dripped shamelessly, 
flickering madly on the quarter moons 
of my impatient breasts growing 
beyond the gown.  How could he eat?   
Selfish bastard.

He ignored me until I refused to be ignored, 
until I started throwing food, 
demanding to know why he wanted me 
only to humiliate me.  He excused himself ~ 
the closest thing to communicating 
with me since our eyes met. 

He paused at the door, his eyes spilling
mercuric tears that softly shattered on the floor,
breaking into smaller and smaller lethal
drops that never dissolve. 

I ripped curtains off windows, 
scratched at stone walls ~ 
I had seen his eyes avoiding me, 
knew he wanted me, knew 
I could never refuse him.

I would never be able to hate him 
more than I wanted him. 
I didn't have that much 
of anything in me.

And yet I pitied him, I pitied him! 
as if I already knew he was hiding, 
needing a disguise the size 
of an electrical storm to shield himself 
from the tall eyes of his surprise 
that found him loving me too much
to ever trust or forget.

He snuck up on me 
like lightning in the dusty night, 
an instant blue fog, narcotic and nervous,
me thinking if I closed my eyes I could stop 
the thunder, stop a drug already in my blood.

*Yes* woke to a warm puddle of *oh*
*noo,* soft as semen as 
the morning broke ~ me 
lying alone, grateful
for a damp bed ~ proof
that he had been there. 

I quit asking what he was thinking, 
assumed he felt nothing, 
agreed with every unspoken thing 
just to open  open my arms to spikes of lightning
striking like syringes full of what 
I thought was his greatest strength
because it was my greatest weakness.
  
I knew something was wrong 
when he said I was ready 
but wouldn't say for what.

The earth's breath turned cold in the dizzying
circular descent.  The stairs were so smooth,
I thought my feet were numb as I followed him, 
my gown dragging reluctantly. 

Our destination:  his lab, a cave furnished 
with Persian rugs and leather couches, *some scientist.* 
And in the center, two chairs and two chromium 
helmets wired to a silver machine 
powered by a glass dome alive 
with arcs of lavender electricity.

He was suddenly talkative, attentive, even charming. 
As he bolted the door, I had my only thoughts
of leaving.  It was a cognition-transference machine. 
He wanted to live in a woman's body, my body,
wanted me to see how it felt to be a man.

He didn't know how much of the psyche would transfer 
but reminded me that I would have the strength 
of a man.  Obviously he had no idea what he was doing.  
But he wasn't surprised 
by my instant agreement.  
It was set for dawn.

That night my fists thundered 
on his back as if I was strong 
enough to crack him open.  
Soon enough.

We watched each other 
buckling chin straps.
We each laid one hand
on the power lever, 
said I love you and
pulled it back, 
slowly at first.  

My eyes disturbed the quiet when they opened,
lids slapped as I blinked.  I walked over to him, trapped
in my former body.  The poor baby. 
I was weightless ~ buzzing numb 
with infinite power ~ I was *a Man.*   

I slipped off his helmet, 
spilling the gentle scent 
of what had been my hair.  
For the first time, I smelled
a woman.  The world slowed 
its spinning so fast 
I almost fell over.  

I knew making love was going to be unlike anything, 
synthesis being more dangerous than mere transference.
We were going to make love, knowing exactly 
what each other's body wanted on the inside 
and outside of every touch.

At first I wanted my nipples back 
until I felt my veins 
gushing blood 
to his groin, my groin
and the hard arrival 
of a desire more demanding 
than I'd ever known. 

He knew what was happening 
and yet urged me to continue, coiling 
around me like ancient music.  When I slipped 
inside him I wanted to keep going 
forever, would've broken 
every bone in my body 
just to fit. 

When the lightning started, I lost all control 
and pounded into him, wanting to beat the fuck 
out of him, hating myself, unable to stop 
until I heard him moaning 
with my voice.
This went on all night. 

In the morning, I couldn't watch him eat 
without being jealous,  
but I couldn't keep my eyes off of him.
He knew what I was feeling
so he didn't dare a word.

I felt so much, I was paralyzed.
There was no way to resist 
but no way to surrender, 

Half-laughing, half-screaming,
he refused my cries
to be a woman again.






copyright 1994 kathy jo kramer