A Stranger in the Night

Once, like you
I knew the day as a lover
but now night
hides my only solace.
Now the dark
is my length and legacy,
my time, mine.
I savor the flow of humanity
as I savor blood or wine
richly red to stain the lips.
Not my own thin blood,
too sweet and ill for my tastes.
I have no lover:
I stand alone.
I hoard knowledge
to consume its over-ripe sweetness.
My artist's heart
loves the light
but only in moonshine can I revel.
Words on the printed page
in black and white
are now my only children
born of blood and pain,
orphans as am I.
On drugs and strangeness
and sweetest blood I subsist.
One day of night
the sight of a butterfly
strange and pale-winged
may bring me joy,
the next nothing will.
I am alone
permitting few into
the House of my scarred, scared
Sacred Heart.
Music, words, knowledge
my companions
the heartbreaking beauty
and the strangeness of the world
my despair my joy.
There is blood on my sharp-edged grin
pass by in the night.
Pass by quickly.

ŠApril 9, 1997