Synthetic Dreams

She came to me last night. She touched me.
I felt her cold synthetic hands. Silky and smooth.
She kissed me. I kissed her. Like lovers do.
I thought it a bit too obtuse, this lifelike motion:
the motion of her head, her hand, her arm,
the rotation in the eyes that dazzled me; and, how
shall I assume this likeness to a woman,
this monstrous complexity that is now speaking to me
is my future mate, my one and only singular insolvency?
Should I love her like a man? Hold her close,
let my lips explore the contours of her flesh,
stroke her animal hair, the nanotubes along her spine?
Or, like a woman, a creature of the night, all bites
and little pecks, a slow and rhythmical elocution
of that fatal touch all women who love women, know?

And, yet, how should I assume to know the truth,
to say that this is different from any other thing?
Are we not already falling free of these old myths of humanity?
Do we not live beyond the designated age,
rubberstamped by time, an artificial ape with a glass brain?
Should we assume the troubled gaze of one who knows?
Is it so hard to think it is alive? Am I too impersonal?
In my disguise does she not know about me, that I…
I too am but a masked agent of desire, fake flesh,
a fabricated man in an invented soul – my memories
as synthetic as my dreams of her? A clown,
a sort of living freak show of humanity? Am I
not after all the final outcome, the unexpected guest,
the dreamed of superman; a walking, talking,
copy of a human male, a living semblance
of that extinct ape, the lowly species we so like to imitate?

– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

 

A Tale of India: the Naga Stones…


A Tale of India: the Naga Stones…

      rivermeshed
slate gray
      pools
slip into
  ruby
eyed
   serpent
      dancers
  enfolding
coiled
      undulating
green
      steps
          descending
        into
      stone

 

– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

A Hole in the World

it started with the wind
the smell of sulfur on the air

flakes of death
tree ash
slurred the sky

the beast knew us
it lived

we stood there in that blank
knowing nothing
only darkness

there was no point to this
the bleak ash rained

we fell into the hole in the world

– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

 

*Note: Long ago I lived during the Great Yellowstone Fire (1988)… One saw it in the air, one smelled its sulfurous pungency… and, on certain days the world would turn black to the point one could not see in front of ones hand… or, even see one’s hands. Those were the days of naught, the blank days that never were… but sit there in my memory like a hole in the universe.

A Woman Walks by the Sea

the waves do not reply
they slap the shore

there is no sadness
there is no fear

she awakens to their cry

 

– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

Old Woman in the Alcove

In the alcove there is a picture
a man in golden curls

one tall candle lit
a small wooden cross above

she knows it will not matter
she knows it is too late

the stubborn fool
he wouldn’t listen

Yet, she prays…


– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.