Marks
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
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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