In the Packed Lecture Hall

Here is the opening poem from The Vampire Bridegroom:

IN THE PACKED LECTURE HALL

The stooped, wizened professor with
wild shoots of hair from the caverns of his ears,
stands at the board,
the tall piece of chalk
fresh from the box,
held before the lecture hall
like a crucifix.

Welcome to Vampirology 101,
he begins,
part Criminal Justice,
part Sociology.

Here we separate the mythology of popular culture
from the reality of vampire life in this modern age.

We have all seen the pop-culture conception of the vampire:
a pair of entwined, rosy-nippled beefcakes with
luxurious manes,
subtle fang-smirks
and bulging riding pants
against a backdrop of Edwardian splendor.

But the sad truth:
the oddly corpulent hobo vampire
collapsed on the sidewalk
in the sky-rise shadow,
imploring passing suits,
his fangs as unbrushed as seashells.
Oh please sir can I suck just a little.
I won't drink much.  Just a little
to regurgitate for my wife and children.

In private, vampires love to gaze into a mirror;
it reflects back their precious inner child.

The little old professor preaches
before the lecture hall with students
displaying every sign of apathy.

In this day of vampire awareness,
he says,
it is very difficult
even for aristocratic vampires
to obtain nourishment:
the regal count bows on the doorstep before
the virginal vision of loveliness.
Count: May I come in my dear.
Woman: Get lost bloodsucker.

A self-defense studio of athletic girls
with taut midriffs and ponytails,
practicing the kick-and-stake maneuver.

Vampires love to teach vampire defense classes.

Vampires must always tell the truth
if asked a direct question.

Vampires persist because they adapt like frogs:
for example car crash vampires,
tanning salon vampires,
and of course pernicious spam vampires.

A boy at the computer surrounded
by a swirl of vampire shadow
spilling from the download stream.

Few know that invitations to enter homes may be granted through email.

Vampires are vigilant nonsmokers.

The vampire professor keeps fangs
cataloged in Mason jars.

Vampire femurs can be planted like trees;
they grow into thirsty bone-white nettle bushes and suck blood on contact.

Undead vampire heads make great pets (safest de-fanged).
The hair is quite luxurious;
the heads do not talk, but
they love to smile like babies.

A Mason jar of vampire blood will always remain
just a smidge above freezing.

At the vampire treatment center,
really a gulag for scientific experiments
to weaponize vampires
for the self-defense of democracy,
special air filters collect vampires that
turn to mist during escape attempts.

In storage, the scientists keep ancient
dehydrated vampires in vacuum-sealed bags,
but somehow they end up on eBay.
Unzip and pour contents into a full bathtub. 
Add a pint of blood to the water and let the full moon
in the window. 
Soon a vampire will congeal.
Add more pints of blood to increase youth and beauty.
They imprint as soon as they emerge from the bath
like crocodile babies.

Yes, the final exam will consist of ten essay questions,
the professor explains.

The Playground

Excerpt from "The Playground" in The Vampire Bridegroom:

Once a psychic vampire buried himself under a playground.

Mrs. Hartman's third grade class responded to the subconscious knowledge of the vampire's presence.

The vampire hibernated six feet under the monkey bars in the moist wormy earth. The children built Gothic sandcastles above the grave. When it snowed, they built deformed snowmen.

The vampire loved the tributes from the children.

The vampire had special talents: He milked the spectral life force from the children when they played on the monkey bars. He nursed through a silvery spectral cord, an invisible straw-umbilicus; their little hearts did the pumping for him.

Other symptoms of the vampire's presence emerged:

A schoolboy, stricken with nightmares, snuck out at the witching hour and hanged himself on the monkey bars, still wearing his urine-stained pajamas.

Great colonies of strange ants formed, mutations that thrived off of the spectral energy emanating from the grave, the children all covered with bites.

The children grew weak and gaunt from their offerings.

The children drew their daily crayon pictures in tribute to their master, a grandfatherly old vampire beneath the monkey bars. They drew their stick-figure selves dancing and playing on the sandy surface above the cocoon-grave; soon they added fangs.

Read the rest of this flash fiction story in The Vampire Bridegroom

Feeding Frenzy

From The Vampire Bridegroom

In the middle of puberty
I turned into a Great White Shark;
all my pubes fell out,
replaced by that fish-belly baldness;
my braces tried in vain
to hold back the rows of
pearly-razor-white triangles,
and the dorsal fin
sprouted from my back like
an erection. 

But even worse, a sliver of desire spread
across the ME inside,
a slow crack across a windshield,
and next it opened into
an earthquake rift of need
for Feeding Frenzy.

At first I went to the park
and public toilets,
and giving in was like
cutting the taut pit bull leash:
the mauling and the warm gush.

I got my gills the same day my voice broke.

My parents bought me sunglasses
to hide the black sky of my eyeballs,
suggested I conceal my smile,
and let me sleep inside a cold waterbed,
but they didn't really understand.

And now I'm starting to understand what they
really mean when they say
a shark dies if he stops swimming.

I had some problems at school:
the vat of chum in Home-Ec,
slicing the swim-team Speedos
with the edge of a tooth,
and then I wiped out the entire wrestling team
in the locker room showers. 

In the newspapers they said I couldn't help it.

Now the scientists keep me
in a special tank at Sea World.

All the pitiful Shamu-watchers are afraid
to touch the glass,
but sometimes in the night,
my true fans jump the gate to visit;
it all begins with a simple flirtation:
a warm limb dangling in the water,
a seductive fin creasing the surface,
the playful slap of my tail
as I indulge a stranger's
decisive plunging in.

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