El Lamento de Un Vampiro

Y'all, all y'all, all
that flesh piled up on the street
is
my sustenance,
all those eyes
caked with sleep, as if from someone who never
quite wakes up, as
looking without seeing or just out of thirst
for the absurd sanction of another glance,
all y'all
are my sustenance, and the
profound horror of having as the only mirror
those glassy eyes, that mist
where the dead cross paths, that
is the price I pay for my sustenance