Feeding Between Us

Your awful chromosome. I have enough of your blanking, stares.
Knife worthy throat, I’m a choice maker and them zombies come down to me and what amounts to another day of canned beans.
Go out then, you. Walk the plank. Into the drink and the drinking. Sweat meat.
Petrified. You’re no match for survival. In the ringworm of days, the count survives. The count survives.
Wind. And then cold. Nope. Nothing, just cold. The field and some rotten view. No one’s coming. Forget it. On your own. Compromise. The vessel in the air. No one’s coming. And the cross up there just looms.
End of it. The water in the street, the gully. An eternity with no one but them. They rot longer. You look down the street and see a knife edge. I got nothing for it. The tempo, temperature.
The fissure’s not in my brain. I’m thinking when you stroke, you die and come back. Then it’s alright for me to kill you. I love you.
I can’t stand for this. In the city they have bridges. Here we look across and know the gully’s armed, really armed with grabbing fingers.
Why don’t they just rot. How do they keep coming on, surviving. I’m counting them and they don’t get less. Get less.
I’m across from the zombie in my dream. He’s in the field and in my dream. I realize they both conceptualize experience. The place and the rotting of place. I’m afraid of the brain fizzing.
I walk on in this fear. Down the street. I walk across the gully indifferent to the indifferent, ignoring.
Street lights go on and off and stay so because they are told to. My meat brings stares which I ignore. I’m fashion finally and you are about to walk, to walk.
This can of beans puts us at odds. The smell of your shit in the corner, at odds. Go in the damn bucket and toss. There’s no shame after the resurrection. Heaven on earth again. The unknowing killing the unknowing for food.