What is this quintessence of dust
Reiterated from shelf to shelf
Down an interminable hallway
Of darkened wood?
As they render, they float,
Hanging motes in the sunlight,
Disappearing into obscurity
And the penumbra
Of the embowed heights.
It is there he will be waiting,
A clotted shadow,
Until the light has faded
For fear of adding himself
To the floating film of the air.
He has only the name
The illustrious student gave;
Enough to warn off late night studies
Lest they become his midnight snack,
For the name upon their lips
Is that of Dracula.
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