I know he'll rise when the evening comes.
The touch of his teeth causes searing pain.
Mouth foaming, he wanders malevolently.
The holes won't anneal after you are drained.

With dogs we run him down among the trees,
Crucifixes, wood stakes dangling at our knees,
But he's cached himself below.

How deep is he dug?
Let's give the earth a turn.
He's the living dead; he bites then drools.
Keep digging down
Till we find his hostelry
And stake his chest cavity.

He sneaks up on you
After sortie from a hidden hole,
Then he bites very deep in your jugular
And he savors as you fall.
As he drinks more than his share from you,
He downs about five pints
Then says, quite aloof,
"I just hate to bleed and go."

How deep had he dug?
All the bleeding has turned
You from livid to otherworld hue.
You don't say down,
You glare malevolently,
And you look new, dentally.