For Anne Rice
Deep before the time of
Akasha,
Before anyone could be damned,
Before Louis, and Lestat,
And Pandora, and
Claudia,
Earlier than even Maharet,
When there were no Mayfairs,
Or Lashers, and Blackwood
Farm was a marsh,
Before Damned Queens,
And East Edens, and
Beloved Belindas,
There was you,
And your typewriter,
And the stories in your
Heart’s mind
Battling for freedom,
Fighting for room
With Sorrow, and Living,
And Family, and Taxes.
They fought on the
Sidewalks of Haight-Ashbury,
They crossed country to
Jackson Square and back.
They traipsed the globe,
And flew higher and faster
Than Marius,
But the epicure was you.
Your eyes saw what no one else could
You made a fantasy of history,
And an epic of fear.
Your rebel angels the more terrible
For there but for the Grace of God
Comes the Body Thief
For me.
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