The Woman Un-Dead
Ephemera you came to me –
You deserve to be set free.
So slay, stab, die me thee.
Before you were you, I was
she in the poster
with all these old doctors,
winding their scopes ‘round my neck,
keeping their stakes in my body.
* * * *
Van Helsing van-helping
stake-fucking in vans.
Touch me, Sir! Cure me!
How cold are your hands
when you pro-life dump in your vampire graves?
And do you see
wood-dagger fingers through soil?
They’re reaching to touch you.
We’re reaching, Sir! Cure us!
These fingers are heavy
with rape-blood blackberries.
* * * *
I live at the foot of a mountain of dead girls.
But we have the most beautiful church.
The garden seems lusher, more berried, today,
as a priest who looks like Van Helsing arrives,
his crucifix bound to a stethoscope.
Cure us, Sir, with your sermon:
the protection of life.
We’re hungry and you feed us blackberries.