WD 132 “Dracula’s Line”

A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth.

Dracula’s Line

You lower the gates:

Your legs crossed like the stars that spell your name 

In your keep on top of the mountains you welcome me

Like an alien fleeing political purge

There is a long table in your dining room with space for both of us to contemplate our own silence 

And I wish I could say what’s on my mind, ask you my questions.

Son of the nephilim, is there anything you wouldn’t offer? Anything 

I wouldn’t give?

There is no exchange rate that honors the value of blood

Or the strategic advantage of having no soul and no reflection

I’m smaller than I look

More lost than I seem

As your endless years spread out before me

A history of good breeding and mental health unchecked