More or Less Ensnarled

To twinkling I revert the under eye, her television
surcease, the twitch I give over to sleeping

all along the couch bed, break bed, fake tread
on the floor brain outside all the rational things

I’m sure your ovens bake continuously. So I mean
asleep I hear the acorns ting and crunch out

on the sidewalk and I hear them coming, hear
the arm resurrect itself to show out of the dumpster window,

to breath; I watch the heat convection off car hoods
in a parking lot of late summer, easy autumn

too cold, I hope inside my cranial, giving less to more
I choose not to be reactionary, to recheck the locked door.

Imagine this: the zombie movie made entirely from
the zombie’s perspective, because, I’ll say this,

the worst parts are when the eye is out in the parking lot
part of the gaggle, part of the slipping yet unnoticed.















:::::::