It’s true:

I almost
never

smile, but that doesn’t mean

I’m not in love:

                                               my heart

is that    black    violin
played slowly.
                                                You know that

moment late in the solo
when                                       the voice
is       so pure

                                               you feel

the blood in it:

the wound

between                                 rage

and complete surrender. That’s

where I’m                             smiling.
You just
can’t see it—               the    sound

bleeding                              perfectly

inside me.                    The first time
I killed a vampire

I was sad:

I mean

we were almost
                                            family.

But that’s
so many lives
                        ago. I          believe

in the cry    that    cuts
into the melody, the           strings
calling back the forgotten

                                           world.

When I think of the madness

that has made me and the midnight

I walk inside—all day long:

when I think of that
one note that breaks

what’s left of what’s
human in me, man,

I love everything