"Blood Poetry" by Giovanni Dania

Blood Poetry

Prologue

  Some are revolted, some are aghast,
To think my feelings and passions could last,
To realize that to these desperate hopes I hold fast,
For they know the mold was broken before it was cast.
  And one would think I'd have learned from the past
Mistakes I'd committed: the drunken pederast
Who, now nameless, was the source of dreams
And nightmares which woke me up with screams,
Which, after all, are rather harmless, it seems....
  Mothers, and potential mothers, in covert teams
Conspire to break my heart, which now steams
With passion for one whose eyes,-- whose hair so gleams!
  But, alas, she has no interest in me,
Hence I now wish that from her I were free,--
No, that's not true, I must maintain honesty,
(Though I'd love to feel its reciprocity)--
Her being is my prison for all eternity:
I'd never stop loving her voluntarily.

  To those I've loved and lost, and those I never will,
I commemorate these pathetic lines of verse, life's bittersweet
Pill chokes me, but I won't die, not without a thrill:
See, Death would never allow me to surreptitiously cheat.
To those I torture with these rhymes, who doubtless must wonder
Why I continue to write, when to talk-- to act-- would seem
The better plan, though I've already suffered through that blunder,
And she, as always, can only love me in a wet dream.
But especially to this special one, who so clutched my heart,
And squeezed nearly all the blood out of it with a smile:
To her I dedicate these precious indications of my desire,
To her I dedicate my confessions, and so I'll start,--
(I apologize to you others who've been bored all this while!)--
And now I shall attempt to extinguish Love's fire:

  Adam's first disobedience, plainly, was
To let himself be seduced by that part of him
He loved more than he loved himself.-- O Serpent!
You destroyed him at Creation, your psychic claws
Have caused unnecessary pain, though you don't repent:
The light of salvation is, as of yet, too dim.
  However, vile Reptile, I can understand
That you alone are not to blame, (for
Man can do many things alone, save be at fault)
You required help, and who gave you a hand?
Precisely that part of him he loved more:--
Thus, Paradise came to a crashing halt.

Canto I

  Now, lurking behind the shadowy mist,
Our hero pined for his love, already wed
To another. He awaited this perverse tryst
Not knowing that she, his love, was dead.
Jealousy is the rage of a man. His rival,
By chance happenstance, did discover
The threat to his bloodline's survival,
And, in blind anger, killed my-- our hero's lover.
  In earnest, in frustration, in desperation!
Our hero wandered the smoky half-deserted streets,
Tested the icy sharpness of his blade, serration
His only consolation amid the city's sweetmeats.
He searched for one who resembled his love,
Some came close, but none could compare,--
Then, behold! a blessing come from above:
He found a young whore who was just as fair.
  There was little point in conversation, he
Only needed to lure her away from public view.
A dank motel room, and sweaty lust, and she,--
She had fear in her eyes, for, somehow, she knew.
She felt this was the last trick she was going to turn,
But she ignored her instincts, her last flub;
For our hero sat in bed, and here's the lesson to learn:
She dripped still-warm blood into the bathtub.

December 1996