Wednesday, September 12, 2007


Through the sighting scope you see

One zombie carrying the head of another zombie.

Both are dead one perhaps more so.

The walking one has a shirt on open at the neck

His face is carved with decay like tattoos of protection

Consider what one will do to keep the world upright

Covering your face in protective markings

To preserve order as it hazes about in the airs

Consider Iraq or Darfur or Prison, the stately engine

Perusing history easily overlooks

Our careful documents designed to preserve us

Ever after.

Then another zombie, casual Friday, tries to take

The head from the one, a tussle ensues then

Disappears behind some trees.

The zombie who had the head no longer does,

He gropes the air. The one who took it is holding

It up to its ear as if listening to what it is saying.

Recovering, they both turn again and begin

To gravitate to where you are watching them

Through the scope of your high powered rifle.

The sun is as everything else is, normal.

Sometimes you wonder about the sounds

Of friendship, the glissandos of before and after.

You mark another day on your arm in knife

Let the blood leak down, reply to raised questions.

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