The New Decay
The smell of wood smoke in the kitchen
After three months of fires and draught
Is the sun bare knuckled upon windows
The zombie bit me on the shoulder
Spray hard red and string of white tendon
Bright like fresh paper.
Vivid because I was going to die
But relaxing because we all were going to die
And it was going to be over for me,
I wondered if the dog would become one
Loose hound eyes all green, and if so, would
He only want to eat other dogs?
Because of the smoke, the light was like
From a jelly jar of orange something too long
In the fridge. The pain was electric.
The zombie had a fresh look, besides deranged
Eyes, kind of no one would know sneak
Up on you and bite hard on the neck kind
Of business man ordinariness. I think he was my
Neighbor who always rubbed his car
In the morning before he got in it, cat paw prints
Over the hood and windshield everyday like
A curse against gleaming. Now the sky
Is a tube of toothy light. Car, sky.
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