Saturday, November 21, 2020

Previously Published in Envoi Poetry . . .



I am not vampire.  I do not desire
to taste or feed.  Disgusting
sacrilege.  I worship the vein,
the sacred vessel embracing brilliant
blue corpuscles.  The accidental cut,
oxidizing blazing red rivulets.  Running
ruins to be remembered, retracted
as effigies of the essence
of everything.  Renfield's eloquent
echo:  The blood is the life.  The blood
is the life.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Previously Published in Epigraph . . .

To Spin Or Not To Spin Static transporter taunts me infinitely across a room of mirrors, reminders of necessity.  Cold motivators of perpetu...