Interview with a Young Vampire

Interview with a Young Vampire

That evening—I was a vampire
And I saw my first—moonrise
And yet I can’t recall—any others
I watched the moon—rise over
The delta swamp—my plantation
As if for the first time—in wonder
I said goodbye—to the sunshine
And became—what I became

I was a vampire—pretending to be
A writer—pretending to be a vampire
How avant-garde—my next victim said
The dark gift—helping me to read his
Killer mind—he’d murdered his wife,
Mother and kids—and he was succulent
Evildoers are easy—to seduce for sure
Plus they taste better—more desperate.

Lon Chaney my father—taught me
How to be powerful—as well as beautiful
And without regret—no nostalgia for
Transylvania—or the girls of Bucharest
Regret is the only thing—you have left
Count Alucard said to me—his son
I could feel the evil presence—of Bela
Lugosi—and the Children of the Night

I always gave them—the choice
The choice I never had—precious guilt
The last human feeling—left to me
But not much—I was still a predator
My all-seeing—Eyes of the Night
Were meant—to give me detachment
Not enchantment—seeking my prey
Especially fresh young Creole blood!!!

The world was dead—a tomb for me
A dying graveyard—of living statues
And each of these statues—had a face
And each face—reminded me of death
And that last sullen—year at Marienbad
Where I walked alone—with my mind
Swarming with guilt—for what I’d done
And couldn’t undo—my evil dead past

In the spring of 2009—I came back home
Back to New Orleans—the French Quarter
And I could finally smell—again the odor
Of true death—the rotting dank stink of
The Big Easy—Delta wondrous seaport
Sweet smell of magnolias—Huey P. Long
The slow sluggish Mississippi River—
Flights of pelicans—out into the Gulf

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