Vampire

I rub my glacial fingers up and down the bones of my face,

Lying on my back I stretch like a starfish on the duvet.

The lights in the North bedroom flicker on and off,

I gaze like a moron at the black and white flashes.



Drunk fingers, they like to play with fire,

Look Daddy, I've grown up and you're back,

Let's celebrate father, let's bring out the best tea and books

Let's celebrate father, my eighteen hundred lost years in Hell.



There's always time for lazy spaces



There's always time for spilling costly liquor and throwing underwear across rooms

They always land clear of the green torn laundry bag

Another excuse to bare my teeth at the looming moon.



A vapor like the screech of a ruined radio

Strikes the tuning fork of my non-existent soul

And wind and rain from cold empty islands

Come lashing at my moods.



I groan for a cigarette,

A demand you ignore with a kiss

An orange melancholy exits your eyes

And slithers into my frigid nostrils.