Author Information
Quatrain For The Conclusion Of Mary Shelley's Novel, *Frankenstein*
To distance and darkness, it fled, alone;
and hoped to mount a flaming funeral pyre.
Its shriveled soul will sink like a squat stone
bound for a slow roast deep into Lake Fire.
And when I read Miss Mary's stylish prose
(despite what craven critics dared assert)
I think of Cousin Jeannie's miniskirt,
and shoeless beauty of her sheer, tan hose---
the kind with reinforcements at her toes.
Starward
