Overheard on the streets on Halloween party night, "Every vampire is a f----ing Goth." Goth is the Undead. Rah!
Making my way through the crypt-white skin and deathly black lips, hair, eyes, nails and clothes of vamps combing the streets looking for treats, I look up and see clouds looking like bruised blood in the sky, with a faint purple tinge over by sunset.
Black silhouetted trees are torn of their leaves by ravaging winds,
shadowy fat leaves fly like bats over the streets.
The clouds broil and the rain comes in,
a fierce spitting snake sliding across the sky.
Ghouls unite! It's time for Gothic Romance
or Zombie Undead Heaven!
Later I walk somnambulantly through the night after my howling dog, and see a bank of dense black cloud moving under the whitest of moons, which sheds light on the upper ridge of the clouds so it's like a stripe rolling along a great skunk.
It's eerie to see the world projecting itself in animal forms.
It must be the influence of those ancient Celts and their (listen for the wail) Halloween.
___________
Really, dear Readers, every word is true! Whooo.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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