The Zombies will not stop emerging from my movie posters.
A giant head emerges from the map
Pate, brow, eyes, as from a lake which shouldn’t be
Over seeing as in a giant movie poster the
And what other exempla of Paris-ness like
The Moulin wind mill. Beneath these eyes
Which peel in desperation, the lower follicles
Brandish gunshots. Nevertheless this zombie will not stop coming
Out of the cheap plastic poster frame in the hall.
I fumble out the remote to see if that works
But the synth beat soundtrack swells to crashing
Until finally this hallway of bare light is claustrophobic
With my new undead conductor, bald and bow tied,
Honored to accept this award for cinematic ingestion.
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