Friday, September 14, 2007

The New Decay

The smell of wood smoke in the kitchen

After three months of fires and draught

Is the sun bare knuckled upon windows

The zombie bit me on the shoulder

Spray hard red and string of white tendon

Bright like fresh paper.

Vivid because I was going to die

But relaxing because we all were going to die

And it was going to be over for me,

I wondered if the dog would become one

Loose hound eyes all green, and if so, would

He only want to eat other dogs?

Because of the smoke, the light was like

From a jelly jar of orange something too long

In the fridge. The pain was electric.

The zombie had a fresh look, besides deranged

Eyes, kind of no one would know sneak

Up on you and bite hard on the neck kind

Of business man ordinariness. I think he was my

Neighbor who always rubbed his car

In the morning before he got in it, cat paw prints

Over the hood and windshield everyday like

A curse against gleaming. Now the sky

Is a tube of toothy light. Car, sky.

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