Maintenance

Limbs in dreams reach for me more than sky.
I’m up high and wishing for a way down. The way down is every wish. The way back is not. The way back is through a childhood and the ghouls there are only imagined.
From up here I can see things going up. With a big bang the zombies go to pieces. They’re not dead, but without legs they can’t chase you.
Walking is an evolutionary luxury. Most species are restricted from casual behavior by predation.
I hope the cats don’t start turning zombie. I need some cuteness to cling to, a social mechanism to remain in identity. The apocalypse has even the trees drooping in post-living-re-animation.
I’m enamored of you pyrotechnical operations in the graveyard. Something relish-y in your bang-bang. I need that.