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