Eaten up with vampires, the world,
like this room, is a buffet in waiting,
all the needy ones parading about,
soaking up attention, splitting open,
flaying fragile egos to the sawdust floor,
viscous intestinal wordage strewn along
the sloppy bar top, flinging incomplete
thoughts in blind and deaf narcissism,
lone and crazed mosquitoes confused
by so many half-listening bodies:
such ripe and unprotected vessels
offering themselves up with nothing
better to do than relent themselves.
– Me, me! Me, no, me! Let me feed!
Give me your damn attention. Now!
We might relent. Our conditions faltering
with this assault of yammering alien nonsense.
Bore us to tears. Hurl us into this black-holed
craving your spout of in your tearless cries
of purpose. Sink your fangs of social appetite
into what little sense and self-preservation
we might have possessed. Yes, feed on.
Larry D. Thacker’s poetry can be found or is forthcoming in over a hundred publications including The Still Journal, Poetry South, Tower Poetry Society, Mad River Review, Spillway, The Southern Poetry Anthology, Mojave River Review, Town Creek Poetry, Jazz Cigarette, and Appalachian Heritage. His books include Mountain Mysteries: The Mystic Traditions of Appalachia and the poetry books, Voice Hunting, Memory Train, and Drifting in Awe.