vampire in the city of lost
once there were these two girls
who were really bored
and they put on their shortest skirts
and highest heels
the ones that made their toes bleed
and they applied perfume to all their pulse points
and they went out into the shiny city
where they met this tall vampire with a shaved head
and a body tattooed with the stories of the centuries
and the face of a matinee idol
please please drink our blood they begged
tossing their hair away from their long swan necks
please make us into the immortal dead
and the vampire said
oh no oh no you silly girls
that is not really what you want
it might look fun but actually it kind of sucks
but we are bored, said the girls
we want to wear the fashions of the future
we want to have countless lovers
and most of all we want to stay young and beautiful
forever
but the vampire gave the girls a lecture
about global warming
and the unfathomable hours of the walking dead
if you think you’re bored now! he said
he bought them kir royales and kissed them chastely
on the lips
so that their mouths went numb and tingly
for a moment
and then he left
the girls hobbled home on their bleeding feet
and they thought about that handsome vampire
sitting up in a tree
watching the deserts flame around him
or sailing on a melting ice floe
while the polar bears died
and the girls were glad to be alive
and they were glad they would eventually die
and after that they always turned off
all the lightbulbs in the house
when they went to bed
hoping they were helping the planet
and, secretly cloaked in darkness,
that the vampire would come back
l.a. bacchantes
yxta and francesca decided to start a clique
for frail but surprisingly strong fairies who had lost
their way above ground
for burned mermaids and sick vampire girls
for wild wolfish women with sharp teeth and leaves
in their hair
for women who had been raped
and women who had never been touched
for women who had been devoured limbs eaten
and women who had sucked the blood
of their passive mates
for ladies who had at one time or another considered
themselves hideous monsters
and who had at other times blinded their lovers
with goddess glory
for smart hungry sad creatures who disguised
themselves as women
and wept in secret because they did not look
like supermodels
for loud lascivious funny femmes fatales
who wanted to eat flowers and whipped cream
and dance on the tables
smash things and wear pieces of the chandelier
for jewelry
fuck satyrs and lick dark chocolate off
each other’s bodies
be worshipped online and flirted with
at parties and glimpsed
in the pages of vanity fair in an article entitled
“l.a. bacchantes”
but mostly just needed each other
yxta and francesca had always desired world peace
and profound romance
but this clique wish seemed somewhat selfish maybe
superficial and greedy
they did not yet know how significant it was
no different really from the peace and love
they had been born wanting
and perhaps would change not only themselves but
the world
people’s park (escape to the north)
stay away, they warned her
she watched from a distance as those others
crossed the threshold
a giant swaddled as a mummy
a dreadlocked satyr mumbling
curses to the blossoming trees and garbage
a fortune-teller who sheltered
a whole family of fairies
under her skirt
a witch with a young woman’s body
and the face of dried apple
rice grain teeth like the dolls the girl used to make
with her mother
some days she yearned to leave the icy marble halls
where no one knew her name
and join them
leave the plates of greasy food
that congealed their fats at her abdomen
leave the cruelly beautiful blond boys and girls
in their polo shirts and top-siders
drinking kegs and fucking and ripping
fancy paper off the walls
of their grecian mansions
it would be better to sleep in mud
eat roots and flowers
discarded crusts and the coffee
the vendors left out for her
after all, who had that giant been before?
lurching down the street as if his feet
were burned stumps
he reminded her of the injured dragon
in the dream last night
afraid until she gave him water and kissed his lips
that did not scald her
she bargained with them i will stop eating i will
sleep in the dirt
sleep out all night on the cold marble steps
i will write poetry about you revealing
your true selves
but they would not let her in
she returned to a city they never even dreamed of
where the homeless lived in cardboard shacks
and had forgotten they were ever
something else
like pretty
what would it be like if i thought i was pretty
what would it be like if i carried
that knowledge around
like i do the knowledge that i am a writer
pretty like peonies pretty like satin pretty
like the child i was
would i speak to you differently
would i be healthier less stressed
less worried
would i buy more shoes or fewer
would i be more or less afraid
of death would i find something else
to hate about myself
would i get this jealous
when your eyes aren’t touching me
in this city of movie star beauties
would i be able to write such raw
and seductive words
would you have fallen in love with me sooner
would i have frightened you away
before you had the chance?
my love
my love is undisciplined
unruly
tangled
she is always hungry
my love wants sweet and savory
baklava and stuffed grape leaves
mango smoothies and avocado sushi
carrot cake and butternut soup
my love does contact dance with strangers
and sweats between her legs
she discusses auschwitz with men in galleries
and thinks she was once anne frank
my love is clairvoyant
she can read past lives the way she reads books—
haphazard, invasive and devouring
my love sometimes wishes she were a lesbian
but she is unrelentingly heterosexual
my love loves babies
pink cake boxes
penises
sheer sequin covered tunics
shoes
(currently she is on a dogged internet search
for pink satin platforms)
my love’s nickname is l.a.
she is extravagant
guileless
with no knowledge of spells or witchcraft
if my love had her own body
she would look more like angelina jolie
than like me
i can’t blame
