Right, I've read it now. As always, Cardinal Cox delights me with his erudition. Had you heard of the Vinca people, or the Dacian sage Zalmoxis? Playful, witty, and often moving, these poems are really not so much about vampires - though there's a full set of teeth here, never fear - but about our own strangely inhuman humanity. We are the monsters; creatures who cannot see ourselves in the mirror of the world. Monsters who subsist on the lifeblood of others, yet remain bloodless and heartless, and shrink from the sun.
God I'm morbid sometimes.
Anyway, here's a little extract from an atmospheric Wells tribute, 'Strange Orchids':
In the yellow of the evening light
Hothouse reveals a tumescent sight
Heady scent which invites to drowse
She fumbles buttons on her blouse
Warning: disturbing words like 'blouse' appear throughout these poems.
Apparently the Cardinal can now be found on Facebook, too. He's getting out there.