Past the very stroke of midnight

It commences—their moment of mirth

Transylvanian legend named Saint George's Night

When undead things crawl on this earth.

Far cry from the modern,

Grand, cosmopolitan

City of London,

The forested land of Blackmoor

Is always densely foggy at night

I am.

And here is where I am.

Before CW’s Supernatural, even The X-Files on Fox, Alan Moore was cranking out Monster of the Week’s like nobody’s business. I wouldn’t dare credit him with the trope, but his work, especially the “American Gothic” arc on his Swamp Thing reinvention, to date, remains my standout exemplar.

In re imagined beginnings / I/She runs barefoot, / Asphalt burning her soles / Towards the mountain, / Out of breath hoping to melt / The ice chips tucked within her ribs.

Salt water stung / on the way / down;