viii. Rational Theory on Ethical Auto-Vampirism

From the 'Gutless Serpentine' Collection.

On the shore of the east precinct two boys fight over

another boy. A girl watches from a nearby skyscraper

with her binoculars. In due time both of the boys have

knocked each other to the ground, they are tired and

hungry. The girl looks at the third boy, who is licking

his lips. She notices that the third boy is quite turned

on by the fight for him. “Disgusting.” She thinks.

Later that day the girl & the third boy are on top of a

hill. A shooting star lays it’s eyes on them, the third

boy wishes for the world to end. He doesn’t know it

already has. The girl makes two wishes. She knows

that she can’t have both. It makes her terribly sad.

I had a dream half a horse delivered your letter, 

        I had a dream my friend was a spy, sand in an    

  hourglass, a fly on the wall. 

        I had a dream you called me by

               the wrong name. With your lips you called, 

“Apricot, Eschew, Moon Magic, Ricochet,

Lung-Plague, Lucy, Locket, Venice” and I answered 

                                  to all of them. 

           A list more than anything is

           an offering, a vow, a wet iron skillet, wet firewood, 

                                   old desire.

           A wolf and it’s audacity drags it’s feet through the

snow, it watches through the kitchen window 

           where you & I are 

                        Hip to Hip. It’s 

           unclear if we are dancing but the wolf would 

                        like to believe 

           we are. It’s unclear if I am breathing, or if the 

                        power bill was 

                        paid.

I’m writing a story and I can’t

            see in the dark, darling. I can’t hear you  

            when you

talk to me while biting my neck. A train  

passes our cabin every night and 

rumbles, and rumbles, and shakes us out of 

          bed and onto

        a stage. 

Spotlight in the middle, the curtains already drawn.

            You take the first act where you brag to the 

           audience about the second act, how I’m all this and

           all that. How lovely my eyes

           are and how I slept while you drew 

            ecosystems. 

The details of my bones, my passport, my 

mechanical inside. 

          The design of my solar system, Dorian’s 

          yellow book, labyrinths, dog shirts. How slow I 

                                eat popsicles. You don’t mention how 

                      books are ruined by having an 

ending- the last 30 pages of

            every book should be ripped out.

You don’t mention how

The audience gets a say on what’s considered a bird of  

                             prey. You don’t mention how 

         nobody gets a say on how the world ends (but us).

The audience applauds for you and then 

the fire alarm is pulled 

before I enter the stage. I don’t tell you that I pulled

     it or why but I do tell you my favourite day of the week.

              I tell you about 

the apocalypse before the apocalypse. I 

                       tell you how cycles are only

          good if they end.

Are we a part of something larger? Do we 

                        have to be? Do we have to move?

          Stars, I am so tired. I’ll lay with what’s mine

for just a little longer.

     In the morning I’ll wake

          up with a masquerade mask in 

          my hand. 

     In the bathroom of our apartment the longest snake 

                      asks about my major. I say that it’s

                      Modern Vampire Ethics, but that’s a lie.

               My major is Black Cat Anatomy. 

                                    You kiss me twice before 

          we leave for class, we both get 

  into the back seat of the car 

                                    and I ask you 

           which one of us wants to drive.

  You respond that we could just sit here forever

          and never go 

 anywhere ever again. I call you stupid and I lay

                                    my head on your shoulders. 

                      The day doesn’t end, not yet. Not for us. 

        On an east precinct hill, a shooting

  star passes a determined girl, 

                                    she whispers her desires. 

   “Let me rest and let me live forever.

                                    Everything ends the way

                    it begins- You. Softened. Faint. 

                                    You. Noiseless. Close. 

                                    You. Dreaming. Sealed.”

   

The star says nothing back.

& The star says nothing back…                                  

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