Indecent?
The nerve you worry like the bones worry coming upon the ravenous a-gnawing.
Automatic decline. The cricket in his moon beam delivers your anniversary gifts: toe nails, hair fibers on the couch, soft boiled memories inclined to moon beam.
Scale back the elevator door. Look down the dark hole, shaft, feast on social decorum, undeclared wordfull meanings. Even still a group of Zombies, neighbors from before, work shirts and slacks, a skirt to be hung by
They’re all in the light, the utility light, its yellow safety cage makes light for you to see by
See by. And you have the nerve to
Shout indecent?
Remember the spider cricket, unzombified,
Pallbearing the cool earth under the house.
Gifts, gifts, gifts.
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