We burn brightly nightly
for after hours is where
the action is, when all the
vampires come out their
studio apartment coffins
to feed and the lycanthropes
roam and the revenants breath
the metallic tang of fresh
meat on the scene and we prowl
in our leathers and trinkets the scent
of the kill strong in our trained nostrils
always looking for the next thrill
the next kill the next lean young
antelope with flexing neck
and wide wet eyes yet to be corrupted.
I spy two at the bar, break from
the pack and casually walk over.
“Hi. I’m Axl. I sing in the world’s
best new rock ‘n’ roll band. I’d really
love to fuck you both, what do you say?”
They look at each other, roll their eyes
then as if on cue throw their drinks into
my face and clip-clop away, laughing
as Cola drips down my chin, stains my
FUCK DANCING LETS FUCK t-shirt.
In less than twelve months I’ll have
to pay a Jewish attorney good money
to slap restraining orders on this pairs’
milk-white asses, but not before I’ve
passed them round the crew for gobbles
and noshes and other life-lessons
in what happens when you disrespect strangers.