[Gail White]

VAMPIRE AT THE RITZ-CARLTON

Desires that consumed you as you drank
increased the void inside to suit your taste.
Now the mirror cannot see your face;
you've worn it smooth, and so have made it blank.

The dead are not invisible, but blind
and leeched away till beauty turns to style,
to spellbind with the rictus of a smile --
a puppet pulling strings within its mind,

a corporate perfection in a shell.
Emptiness designed to fit a mold,
your grip is so much stronger, being cold:
if I'm compelled to say you're looking well,

you're compelled to act as if alive
and spread your death to others to survive.