Hey there little guy,
you're obstructing my view
of the entire world
ahead and behind. From this angle
it's kind of hard to tell -
are your legs curving out or in,
as if you were playing dead.
As if I were fool enough for that trick.
How swell, ghastly pale and pasty,
I'm sure your fangs would smart.
I'm sure you'll try to wander
as far from my beating heart
as the curvature of glass
would allow your locomotive pegs,
but I won't pigeonhole your essence.
Maybe you have diabolical
little gears tumbling inside
that hollow head and you thirst
for human blood like
your uncle nosferatu.
Maybe you can finally make your peace
with every fly you've ever leeched off
and every web you've ever weaved.
Wove? You probably care less than I do
about grammar and subtleties
so accept this raptly dealt gift
of flesh and go to hell in peace.
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