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What I Learned from Dracula 

Adam Edelman

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You can’t domesticate a clam, but you can
put up guard rails. You can exchange spectacles
with a pal near Marfa, watch the Dürer dunes
mutate like irradiated stem cells. The pal will
wonder about the enormous tiger swallowtail
butterfly bleeding on your mouth. How resistant
is it to frost? To flame? Did it also have to take
the entrance exams? The answer to all is yes, but
surprise! There were finely ground viper scales
in that last sorbet you scarfed, and honey rays
may yet withdraw from the platinum-clawed
mantelpiece. May the coffins be padlocked, just
in case. You can take certain steps to preserve
the scholarly fragrance of sable knolls. Fashion,
the freshest awning, a porcupine of syringes.
A terebinth is dripping on discarded tuning
forks, swathes of chromed weather float over
the herb garden, and you’re a pedestrian
fussing over unkept secrets. Bring the plaid reactor
to the moon’s twig, and don’t forget to sugar
the rice patties with zinc sulfide when I’m gone.