You won’t have to change the tires or fill
Up the gasoline. Just a few drops of
Blood and you will be racing down the street
Impressing your friends and getting chores done
Lickety-split. Just like Bella climb on
Edward’s back and race down the streets in a
Blur just above two hundred miles per
Hour. With a jab to the ribs, he will
Leap to a nearby stand of trees and flit across
The tops. Slice open a vein and pay for
The wide open American culture
Of vehicular freedom. All very
Reminiscent of The Little Shop of
Horrors that is the Texaco station.
When she feels the churning green glow of the
Hardening voices. She escapes into
The hard binding of her books. She had read
All of the books about vampires who
Fall in love with girls. Now, she has begun
To read about werewolves who fall in love
With girls. Next she will read about mummies
Who fall in love with girls. Then, ghosts who fall
In love with girls. Then, Frankensteins who fall
In love with girls. She was fifteen when she
Broke his corrupt hands and began to slip
From one man to another. Pulled to these
Books to see children rioting in beauty
To see things she had always never had.
The light that you might see looking out the
Back door at a twilit morning. The street-
Light just brighter than the purpled light
Glowing over small hills. The light that pulled
You out of bed at four in the morning
To check on your dogs in their pin because
They didn’t even perk up to the sound
Of you moving in the dark. But you just
Couldn’t make it past your back steps. The light that
You mistake for the glow of the exhaust
In your neighbor’s tail lights as he scraped ice
From the windshield of his truck. The light that
Sends you back in with a chill. The light that
Just felt too wrong. Each of us holds the light.
If the cornerstone happened
Inviting nature of gold to the communicator,
The bed with all the pillows and the sun
Would begin to peek through
The lace curtains that just happened.
I was in a twilight world between
The dying faces of the crowd.
I could conceive other four senses.
Because of the after.
Because all is from care.
I tried to keep his son
From glancing up from the paper,
Taking his eyes from the making of a mess.
The gathering blue of twilight
Eclipses the last days of California.
And the dance of dragons
Brings forth the insurgent,
The first bible stories,
The complete idiots guide to magic tricks.
And I am the prisoner of Azkaban
As I lay dying.