Zombie Apocalypse 30/30 #29 "Out All Night"

Yeah... I was out all night... sorry
about that. Hope you didn't worry
too much. I just got caught up
in what I was doing, raiding old
Walmarts for the remaining cans
and boxes of food, ammunition,
this cool dvd I found. Someday
maybe, we'll find a dvd player
and a generator. In this movie,
the people still run from zombies
but it's got a killer soundtrack
of punk rock music. My arm? Oh
I cut that on some exposed nail
climbing out of the same window
I crawled in through. Irony, huh?
Still... a common wound, nothing
to worry about... let me in please.
It's me... I'm so damn hungry...

30/30 one last night at the Bridge Cafe

Creatures of habit
In life or undeath
Zombie poets know
When it's that other Friday
Flocking to the spot
Corner of Bridge and Elm
Even in the blackout
They could find it with their eyes closed
Yet they don't blink
Zombie Matthew arrives early
Out of habit
The rest trickle in
And start late
You know, they're on zombie time
Congregating out front
Their slack jaws let cigarettes fall to the sidewalk
Spurred inside by tonight's feature
They shuffle indoors to commence
After zombie Ryk had chided them
To "stop dragging their feet"
Zombie Charles stamps each hand at the door
DELIVERED
Zombie poets accept it silently
Appreciating the cruel irony with woeful moans

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29/30 Haliburton Zombie Sestina

The apocalypse was a genesis
Ravaged by a virus
A civilization ate themselves
Survivors fought the zombies
Defended our small plot
Til we were rescued by Haliburton

Pivotal moment for Haliburton
Like the serpent of Genesis
Put a twist in this plot
Spreading hope like a virus
We are saved from the zombies
By the Devils themselves

Making heroes of themselves
The new sheriff was Haliburton
Out-gunning the zombies
Martial law had its genesis
Spread in fear of a virus
Smaller than any point we could plot

Every graph they would plot
Foretold cash for themselves
Multiplying like a virus
New messiah is Haliburton
Not foretold as in Genesis
But neither were the zombies

We the people, like zombies
Went along with the plot
Bit the apple of Genesis
They had shined up themselves
United States of Haliburton
News spread like a virus

Wikileaks says a computer virus
Turned our PCs to zombies
Pentagon mainframes, installed by Haliburton
All succumbed to the plot
For the soldiers themselves
Undeath was no Genesis

They say Haliburton made the virus
That was the genesis of the zombies
In their plot to save us all from themselves.

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30/30 End

There is nothing left sacred.
There is only a ghost town
haunted by its undead evil.
When you forget what you used to know,
It isn't so bad being surrounded by this.
We've adapted and mutated
into thoughtless murderers
strong and surviving.
There are few left,
numbers grow weaker by the day.
There are no secrets -
the undead will outlive us all.
There is no happy ending,
only prolonged death
a waiting room,
a gruesome limbo,
forgotten by any creator
we could have once called on.

29/30 Scandalous Zombie

You know the expression,
"I wouldn't touch you even
if you were the last living person on earth"?
Well, that's not true.
Not even a little bit.
Shame is a thing of the past.

Zombie 30/30 Epilogue: Zombie Baby Speaks

Heeeeeey! Remember me?
I'm still in the seaweed here!
You guys are such dicks.

Zombie 30/30, 30

My story ends as it began,
behind the scenes, the history
of waiting for the win,
scared that the victor
would eat us out of memory
even as losers.

I will say this.
I went in a first car
for the first time in a month,
warned that the highways
are sitll bad with
shuffling commuters.
Sometimes, my unclue siad,
you can hear the horns
mile from the guarded off ramp.

Words between my Mom and I
are my own business,
but I'll relate this:

Midnight, we made our way
to the church, just cleared
and clean enough to enter.
A minister from the neighboring
Baptist church was about to start.

the old women in the pew behind us
said straightfaced and clear
how good it was that younger people
were coming to mass this year.

That's when I knew the human race
could survive even this.
That was the true terror.

Dead on Dead: A Limerick

Hipster zombies are starting to grieve
for their scene that they tout on red sleeves.
Now the scenes' also dead,
but it's moaned (meaning said)
that there's no way that they can just leave.

Funeral: A Tretina

Nondemonial pyre fueled by death.
Say good-bye in bulk to fathers, mothers,
neighbors, death. Finally, a funeral done right.

Forget choosing rite passage, throw right
down, period. We get rid of death
from our sight one more day or longer. This mother

of all funerals, it took a motherlode
to teach us how a funeral is done right.
Forget loved ones. Your target is death.

Death gone for good someday. Payback's a mother.

Zombie 30/30, Poem 27

Spent walk writing
poems with zombies in place
of pigs and librarians.

You remember when
putting zombies in a poem
used to be funny?

Done with all that now
now wring my last words in
Sayonarau.

Each step falling flat
but walk I'm scaling down
slippery mountain.

Too much darkness
I even hope for zombies
to jump in my way.

So far still untouched.
Maybe plague doesn't want me.
Will anyone?

but now there's a light.
From train station night light or
snow reflecing moon?

None of the above
corpse bonfire going up
in train parking lot.

Why unseen so far?
Answered with the shadows of
still bodies in front.

Romero shuffle
towards the fire an its
home to human cries.

Zombies speed higher
yet no warmer than before
I see bulk take shape.

Zombies in parka
protected from stilling cold.
How New England.

Zombies turn, sensing
easier meat in place of
warmer bodies.

Decision costs them.
Somebody screams an alarm,
helping me to duck.

Frewheeling fire.
Headshots are eventual.
Bullets still bounce rails.

Brave enough to beg
for my life and risk
gunhappy bullet.

Somoene yells my voice
familiar. Family's
heard me squeal before.

Dragged to the fire
told to warm up by the death
but not to breathe in.

Voice of my uncle
jokes about leaving money
to pay for parking.

The ask how many
tried to make it home? I lie
and say all of them.

This wasn't the end.
Don't anyone dare to ask
if I was relieved.

Day 30 - Snow

I am exactly what I've always been.

I am not one of them.

I am spent.

I am falling in the powder

in the front yard,

I am asking nature for one final direction.

I am wrapped in the peripheral limbs

of some existence.

I am that abandoned house.

I am stripped of earthly necessity,

I am feeling the stump of my missing arm

bleeding again, a cicada

leaving its shell.

I am breathing communion,

I am choking on nothing

I am swallowing home

I am buried in lost instinct.

I am struggling to recognize the two figures

standing above me, one man

and one woman

like there always is,

I am not hearing if the sounds they make

are of my own language, of if

they are moans of hunger.

I am trying to listen.

I am closing my eyes

to the snow swirling down upon me.

I am growing

upwards.

Day 29 - Tribute

Brandishing a gun

as you enter the house you grew up in

feels awkward, but the zombie apocalypse

was never supposed to be familiar.

I call out into the stillness of the halls

as warning.

I think my mother and father

might be shocked to see me

staggering and armed, bandaged

stump for an appendage. So I shout

this information as well,

I echo throughout the cabin.

With the little strength that has not yet

ebbed from me,

I search the house.

Empty of life,

it displays nothing by way of tribute

to my struggles.

Before I head back outside, I place the revolver

on the kitchen table.

The house key goes

in the same place.

Undoubtedly, I will come back to them.

Then I stumble out to the porch

and into the front yard

to look for those two,

finally with nothing in my pockets.

28/30 PTSD: When the Macabre Became Normal

At first it was in self defense
And then it was in fear
Soon after it was anger
That drove us to persevere
Preservation of the species
We, the fittest, would survive
In clearing zombies we forgot
That they were once alive
We ceased to mourn turned loved ones
And focus on the kill
Get the job done, no regretting
When this is over, though
We will

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28/30 Feast

I've learned to chop them
Into clean, tiny pieces,
like steak at dinner.
Though serrated knives
wont do - hack saws and scalpels
clean cut the best meat.

Zombie Apocalypse 30/30 #27 "Palladin"

I'm not what you'd call a smart man. I'm not
God-fearing, I was raised to believe my Jesus
loved me. That's why he died and rose again.
All this mess has nothing to do with this. Hell

came to live in our town, but it's not the Lord,
it's not Jesus, it isn't even 4 horsemen. Forget
what the preachers say, for they are men. Men
can become so afraid they forget how to stand

up to whatever hand has been dealt them. That
is what my Jesus taught me. He and I may differ
on the holiness of my AA-12 Automatic shot gun
but I know it is His hand that guides me. Alive,

I've kept His Word alive in the hearts of people
I've saved from these revenant Hell-walkers;
against their hordes the best weapon is hope.
I did what I did because I believed the words

of proud and arrogant men. They assured me
they had found a cure in their medical research.
They claimed they could turn them back. "Think
of the people we could save!" And so I worked

for them, organizing volunteers to help in this
mass production of their wonder-cure serum.
"Dangerous work with dangerous chemicals, so
we lose many..." That's what they told me, but

I didn't believe them. I'm the man Jesus wanted
me to be, I couldn't pretend I saw something
other than what i saw: something wrong. Now
I know the deceit of these men. The volunteers?

Dead to a single one. It's the pituitary gland, see?
That's the secret ingredient in the cure. It must
come out of a living human. They'd use the poor
to recover the wealthy and the powerful, and also

as defense against infection. That was their plan.
While Jesus and I usually differ on this shotgun
and its relative holiness, now is not that time.
I'm bringing twin barrels of judgement, spitting fire

five time per second. I am the wrong Bible story
for these arrogant men to fuck with. I am both
steel and the righteousness to use it. What's right
is right, even now, in the face of armageddon,

especially now. Hell has come to Earth and now
is the time to draw a line in the sand. Jesus and I
are standing on this side. Why don't you come
over and join us. Here, there is still some hope.

Day 28 - Trees

At night, trees can be haunting.

Bathed in moonlight, ghost-still,

they are impartial observers

stranded as such,

unable to reach their neighbors

and mum on the gossip that crawls under them.

They won't say

if zombies were nearby recently,

if their trunks

conceal one ready to pounce.

So I don't bother asking them.

The trees just stand there,

wearing something like sad approval

as they watch me pass by.

I am cold.

I am scared.

But I won't be regarded as such.

27/30 Zombies at High Tea (haiku)

Darling, pass the scones
This brain paté's to die for
No pun intended

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27/30 - Consumed

I can feel my brain pulsing inside of my skull.
Banging against the walls, craving escape.
They can see it, see my head shaking
with each burst of blood flowing upward.
Flaring nostrils - they smell what I'm thinking.
I want to know why they crave.
I want to run head first into the bricks,
forcing blood and brain matter to drip down my face,
I want to taste the reason they want me.
I want to take what they want from them.
I want to destroy what they're after right in front of them.
I wonder if they taste anything.
If they are away of the texture of human on tongue,
mashed in between incisors,
blood running down their throats.
My shoulder blade is opened with a deep gouge
the smell of death creeping over me.
I want to become a black hole,
to disappear inside of myself,
to blink out of existence.

Zombie Apocalypse 30/30 #26 "Hip & Dead in NYC"

It is hard to put it all together:
the thoughts, the memories,
each step leading to the next.
Sometimes, I'm so full of myself

and other times I am the sum
total of all my empty spaces.
I have a desert in my stomach,
I have a sink-hole in my heart;

my mouth knows only the full
echo of my own moaning. Hell,
if I had known this was the price
of a shambling afterlife, why I

would've let myself get bitten
long ago. You can shove this
pale ethic of "do unto others
as you'd have them do unto

you." I am a zombie and I am
proud. We are the last laugh
on a consumerist culture gone
all cannibal on itself. We are

the face of tomorrow: endless,
bottomless, without misgiving;
we consume like there's no such
thing as tomorrow. We deserve

everything that we can fit inside
our mouths. We will chew it up,
we will make it part of our bodies
We are the blank generation, and

we can take it or leave it each
time. Remember the guy who sang
that? He called himself Richard Hell.
I think he rose from the cold grave

a few days ago, wanting nothing
more than to be heard in death
as he wasn't in life. Also, it seems
he wants Tom Verlaine... badly.

Eating Poets

Similes slobber like intestines from my gut.
There's no profound zombie like me.
I have been eating poets.

The alpha zombie doesn't even have a clue.
His look is blank
and he walks with a shat-pants shuffle.

The poet's gone.
the sky tear blue.
Two dogs interfere with my beginning of a haiku.

The eyeballs roll
from my hands like berries.
The alpha zombie starts to growl at my wasting of food.

He's totally clueless.
When I pull the pen from my skull to write,
he freaks.

I'm human again.
I tear at treees for bark.
I scrawl on them while I roam the park.

The Undead Are Banging On Our Doors

It's relaxing to shuffle
on once sulfurous-sored feet
my back no longer in pain
straighter than this hard oak door.

I'm in feed-mode. I see through
cataracted lenses. I rend with
false teeth I thought to replace
and defy indigestion

that schoolboy-taunted me in
every bathroom. Through my ears
they all scream like bad children
pocketing slingshots, holes in windows,

repenting to their parents
once they're caught with cigarettes
for lack of all hope. The sounds
trying to push back delude

themselves to thinking I'm dumb,
though I have more brains than them
stuffed like pens in shirt pocket
PHD's lost in jacket

to be discovered when food's scarce,
that they'll make a break for it
cleverly spin circles round
our circles. No. Not these kids.

Zombie 30/30, Poem 25 Redux

I hit the rails with
a coat my father bragged
could help me survie the aritc.

It took days at least, nonstop
walking, no watch that lasted
the trip past the first long hours.
Would it be Christmas when I arrived?

I looked out for any sign of plague
piercing side of my old stomping grounds.
I found it just before Franklin.
A train that must have taken in a once-bitten,
the driver maybe veering off course
in an effort to save its final destination,
jacknifed to the side as skillfully
off target as a trick sword.

The train was too burried in snow
to search for terror. Of course,
some made it on the tracks anyway.
A body neatly divided
as if an eat and run
or somehow cut in half
from the dying train.

Her face familiar, I remembered her
from the times we shared a car
on Fridays when I went home
and we shared barbs at the
ticket stabber who always overcharged
regardless of peak hours
and who just might have been
the one cold enough to kill hundreds
so thousands more could prepare.

Separated from herself and home,
the woman had enough time on her hand
to relearn how she took her last breath.
Of course she wanted it back,
if only just to relive the one
moment of her life she could, do it right.

When she finally looked up at me,
she nodded, staring at
whatever makeshift weapon I had,
and took one last gulp,
wating for me and one last confidence.

Day 27 - Agony

It was waking up without an arm that did it.

First, confusion

and panic. Then

anger, my phantom limb

an itching reminder of pain

that won't be numbed by the cold

and loss

that piles up empty.

All the calm I had clung to since

this apocalypse started

was gone, I couldn't stand what the world

became and what I was unbecoming

I hated human beings

for being built with so many crutches,

I didn't care if the dead

would hear it for miles,

I took out my revolver and shot

the basket of food the couple had made

for me, still wrapped tight,

I was not to be a slave to any

kind of hunger again, I hated its hold

so I fired all six shots there

and stomped the scattered remains

so nothing was left salvageable.

I didn't care if I was acting like a child

at that moment,

there was no one around to act right for.

No one around to

tell me I was wrong

and maybe,

no one around worth this surviving.

Zombie Apocalypse 30/30 #25 "Thinker"

cognito ergo
sum zombie: I think, therefore
I am so hungry

26/30 poetic justice

We had once been band geeks together
Sang opposite one another in school plays
Even once shared a kissing scene
In front of the whole junior high
Les Miserables it might have been
They all run together now
It is the humiliation I remember
Not the lines or costumes
She confesses to me
Her feelings were the same
Kissing a geek in front of the school like that
Was practically social suicide
For a moment I am confused
Then hurt
Having assumed for so long she knew
As I did
Which of us had greater cause for embarrassment
It is past us now
We are compatriots
Manning our posts along the neighborhood barricade
Keeping the bonfires stoked
So we can see them coming
She catches me
Watching her figure as she shoulders her rifle
The smooth way her body absorbs the recoil
She snaps a new round into the chamber
She is all business
Baggy cargo pants have never been more attractive
I hope she hasn't seen me look away
And that the flickering light masks my blushing
When our eyes meet.
She is the only one with whom I speak of old times
Days without looting, gunfire, and undead friends
We recall our awkward kiss
She insists it was HMS Pinafore
I defer to her recollection
We are weary
Our replacements have not arrived for their shift
We know too well what that usually means
The bonfires are dying down
No one has brought new wood to fuel them for days
Through the glow and smoke
A dozen dragging feet become visible
We each shoulder a full bag of ammunition
Hoping it will be enough
Praying we will not recognize anyone
When we find their zombie faces in our crosshairs
Those shots are always the hardest
And to think my greatest struggle
Was working up the courage to kiss a girl in front of classmates
We stand atop the barricade
Shoulder to shoulder
Feeling, for the moment, invincible
We once stood in this pose on stage
Shoulder to shoulder
Looking off into the spotlights
To each of us, the realization
More thrilling than ironic
This is the moment of plot resolution
Of epiphany
Of a grand finale building
From one voice to a chorus
She begins it
A second before I muster the nerve
"Will you join in our crusade..."
I kick myself for hesitating
Then swoon as only a former band geek can
And join her
"Who will be strong and stand with me
Somewhere beyond the barricade
Is there a world you long to see..."
I find the first one through the scope
Wouldn't you know it
We knew that guy
He's the one that played Javert
She remarks casually that he was the cute one
CRACK!
Her bullet finds its mark before I squeeze the trigger
Javert falls
I look at her, in shock yet amazed
She keeps singing
And reloads

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Haiku

Zombies wonder what
to eat if burried alive,
feeling quite helpless.

26/30 Union

We, the undead,
in order to form a more perfect wasteland,
establish anarchy, ensure selfish prosperity.
Provide nothing,
Promote slaughter.
Ensure the demon hunger,
to ourselves and to the remaining.
To generate a new world,
post apocalyptic crash,
the Land of the Undead.

Day 26 - Appreciation

They had to amputate my arm. While both

husband and wife were clearly intelligent

and world-weary people (both being in their fifties),

neither was a doctor. But they knew enough

to get the job done, although

the cleanest tool they had

to do it with was a chainsaw. I requested

one that had not previously bit through

the flesh of a zombie

which made the man laugh,

that being the only opportunity to smile

we would have that day.

I would have passed on this gruesome act,

but the infected flesh of my wound

was crawling dangerously close

to my left shoulder. The man was right,

it had to go. Less than two seconds, he told me.

That's how long

it would take to remove my arm. From there,

they would cauterize the stump

with a piece of metal heated over a flame.

The man asked me if I was ready. I looked at

him, nervously handling

the chainsaw, then over to his wife,

who glanced at me over her shoulder

as she held something I couldn't see

over the fire. And I said yes.

I don't remember the entirety of the ordeal.

Mostly just my own screaming,

blood,

and pain

that blinded my eyes and consciousness,

as I believe went into shock at least once by

the time my wound had closed.

They offered to let me stay a day or two

before I headed back into the cold,

but I left that night. I told them

that I needed to see my parents,

that their cabin was close by,

halfway up that squat mountain

we could see from the end of their driveway,

at which the two shared a silent,

concerned look for just one moment

before they saw me off. They

waved

as I continued up the road

with extra ammunition,

some food

and a new appreciation of balance.

25/30 Passing the time

Santa failed to bring the gift
I'd placed first on my Christmas list
I'm starting to believe that he
Isn't real after all.

The twenty-sixth and still this menace
Roams our streets, is ever-present
Lurking round every corner
And dark alley.

Perhaps he didn't get my letter.
Web is down; US mail's no better
Guess I'll just have to
Do the job myself.

(You'll shoot your eye out, kid!)

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Zombie Burial Haiku

Withheld eulogy.
Hard to speak well of the dead
when they're listening.

Zombie Apocalypse 30/30 #25 "I Cannot See, but I Know"

even in the snow
storm, they are out there, waiting
moaning in the dark

25/30

She is scattered across the snowfall
like Koolaid spilled on kitchen tile,
expanding and absorbing.
I notice her hands -
although bruising and stained
still delicate and feminine.
Parts of us remain unchanged,
parts of us never the same.
It takes hours to break the frozen ground open
deep enough for the body to be placed inside.
I am gentle even though she is unfeeling.
I am strong even though there is no one to see.
I am speaking though there's no one to listen.
Constant death is driving me mad.
Is survival worth anything?

Day 25 - Arm

The man that saved my life

showed me back to his home,

a cozy little ranch, with

fields he tilled in the summer.

I would never have guessed that

a small farm like his would

be one of the most well-

protected fortresses around,

but he had to guide me step by

step to the front door because

there were so many traps that

I was in danger of setting off

which were invisible to one not

looking closely. An elaborate

system of wiring and feedback

that would make NASA blush

fed into his basement, the

control room from which he

could monitor the instruments

and their prey. His wife made

me the first warm meal I had

eaten in weeks, then I took a

much needed shower. The smell

of rot would not wash off.

The momentary world I let slip

into my mind, where zombies

did not exist and warm meals

and showers were more common

than gunfire, was torn down

by that acrid smell. Before

long I realized my mistake,

as that stench was coming from

me. The wound on my left arm

was becoming gangrenous. Maybe

outside where I needed to stay

alert, I had suppressed the pain

but I now had full knowledge

of how much it hurt. Upon

going back downstairs, the woman

informed me that an alert had

gone off, indicating that one

of the traps had been activated

and her husband was out to

investigate. I had her lead me

safely into the field where he

stood, shotgun limp at his

waist, next to a corpse stuck

crumpled in a bear trap. I

knew the face, but couldn't

find words to fit his new shape,

first disfigured by the molding

grip of death, and once more

by the rending teeth of steel.

I think I wasn't able to hide

my reaction from the couple,

since they stood with me in

silence for a few minutes there

and didn't question me when

I asked if we could bury him.

And I think the man noticed

more than sorrow in the way

I struggled to move the earth

with my shovel, because upon

returning back inside his home

he asked if he could see my arm.

24/30 - Happy Holidays to You and Yours

Having family around for the holidays means
group kills, head shots, and competition.
We argue over who has had the best aim thus far
so we go out looking for them, like we've never been afraid.
When Jimmy gets his rifle shinned up and ready
our uncles take him outside, leading him by the shoulder,
telling him of their favorite kills.
They ask each other for direction
like asking for another slice of turkey
or a biscuit, something typical.
They challenge one another to shots like
whiskey toasts and no one thinks
of beer when you say shotgun.
Routine breeds false comfort
and although I find myself wishing
for forever Christmas,
I know soon we must move again,
separate,
and forget the family we once knew.

24/30 Formerly Live Nativity

prologue:
We've mocked the militias
Of the deep south
And with good reason
But in times like these
When vigilantes are needed
We regret our snobbery
When those crazy flyers
Hit the streets, literally,
Dropped from an airplane
To "spread Christmas cheer
Even to damn yankees,"
The thousand flyers read.
No food, no supplies
Just these Christmas cards
Pictures I'll never forget
Zombie corpses posed perfectly
Almost as if taxidermied
Dressed in robes and cloaks

image:
Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus
Fetid flesh in perfect pose
Shepherds knelt in adoration
Missing fingers, eyeballs, toes
Zombie magi bringing gifts
Riding camels, holding reigns
Bearing gifts of frankincense,
Myrrh, and possibbly brains
Serenading from on high
Zombie angels strung above
Complete the adoration scene
Photo spreading Christmas love
Though it was hysterical
Complaining is considered rude
Wish that godforsaken militia
Would've airdropped beer or food!

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Post Zombie Apocalypse Haiku

Undead plague ended,
girl with shotgun says we should
date other people.

Zombie Apocalypse 30/30 #24 "Astir in the Manger"

he was unborn to the undead
on this day, our saviour made
of old flesh given new purpose.
Risen in a manger, surrounded
by three wise men and shepherds
and all their flock – everyone dead
and partially eaten. A star above
had led them through the night
and next to that, their own flesh
was the only gift they had to give.

Zombie Apocalypse 30/30 #23 "Holy Night"

I know they are all down there, singing
their songs by candlelight and wishing
each other a merry... *BANG!* ... sorry
about that. As I was saying, all of them
so focused on reclaiming some aspect
of this season. That's why I am up here
*BANG!* making sure what they want
is what they get. On this night at least,
let them enjoy the delusions and be
safe, without *BANG!* worry. They think
of me as this cold guy; remote, removed.
At least half of them think I'm as scary
as *BANG!* those things outside. I'm not
arguing with them either. To be a sniper
is to be nothing other than the *BANG!*
conduit between gun and target. Bone
and muscle, finger and eye – all I am
is about the straight line, cool squeeze,
*BANG!* Christmas Miracle that uses
a gun to keep my people below free
to make of this night something holy.

Zombie 30/30, Poem 23

Hipsters leave when a scene
isn't happening. I left when
a happening becomes a scene.

Even as the corpses burned
in higher stacks, some still
thought it'd be better to
cross over, hibernate
to a warmer climate
wake in half-death
to a future they didn't
have to think about.

Sides were taken.
The minute logic was
vs. everything else
I could smell the blood
that would be on my clothes
before a fight began.

I wasn't a coward,
I went guerrilla, sneaked
to the train tracks at midnight
to be home for Christmas
like my friends home for Iraq,
once more before a war
with no end in sight.

23/30 sleet

A zombie who walked in the park
Stayed outside in the cold and the dark
When it started to sleet
He could not move his feet
When he tore them off, that left a mark!

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23/30 - O Christmas Tree

O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
how lovely you are to climb.
When zombies are surrounding us,
you give us a place to hide.
Not only green, bruising skin,
but also brown, and blue- so grim.
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
how much more can we survive?

Day 24 - Jingle

Today a zombie fell out of an oak

in front of me

with its head blown off.

Later, the man told me it was

up in the branches

waiting for a chance to ambush, so he shot it

before it could make its move.

They aren't as dumb as they appear, it seems.

The man showed me a tired smile,

swung his shotgun up atop his shoulder

(the bell attached to the gun jingled)

and told me

Merry Christmas.

Day 23 - Juxtaposition

The wound above my left elbow

is getting worse.

When I fell the other day, I was more pissed

that my watch broke; in retrospect,

a considerable gash is more worrisome,

what with the poor state of my health.

Constantly on the move,

out in the cold with

little to eat,

little to sleep

and a stress level bordering on ridiculous;

unsurprisingly, the only thing my immune system

is immune to anymore

is existing.

The skin is not healing properly,

and I worry it has become infected.

It's dangerous to stay in any place

for more than an hour or two at a time,

especially in tight quarters

where they might hide,

but I need to find someplace to recover. Maybe

one of these houses will have something

I can treat this injury with.

I need to rest,

I need to eat

I need to relax,

and to keep reminding myself

that the flesh dying on my arm

does not make me one of them.

Zombie Limerick

There's too much undead in the room.
My boomstick no longer goes boom.
My shirt now has a stain
that just might be my brain.
There's one more undead in the room.

22/30 - Making a List, Checking it Twice

"But moooooom." He screeched.
"I want a zombie pirate for Christmas!"
Something about Christmas is not right.
Well, not just for the obvious reasons.
No gratitude towards remaining together,
this time of year just brings desire
for the things we can not have.

"You can't have a zombie pirate for Christmas.
It'll eat your brains."
"But but but moooooooom"
Shrugging, "Maybe zombie Santa will get you
the zombie pirate of your dreams, but
I certainly am not contributing to that in any way."
Tears rush down his pink cheeks
"Santa's a zombie?"
At what age is it okay to spoil the secrets
of Christmas to a child?

Zombie Apocalypse 30/30 #22 "Silent Night"

They said I had to be out of my mind
wanting to celebrate Christmas this
year, that survival was all we had
to be thankful for, that the stories
were lies, and worse, hope was harm
just waiting to happen. I said "Shut up
all of you and open your presents."

See, Jenny used to talk all the time
about this special-composite bat
she saw once, and it's no surprise
that Steve's jokes about shoveling
his driveway with a flame thrower
each winter, masked a child's dream
come true come Christmas morning.

Finding these things was hard enough,
hiding them for a few days? Almost
impossible. But it gave me something
to focus on other than death. My gift
was seeing their faces look a little bit
like before all this happened: normal.
I won't tell them how I risked myself

raiding that 7/11 out by the main town
just to find ingredients for the eggnog.
The stockings are just plain wool socks,
but the handguns inside are the gifts
that keep on giving. This year we have
a small piece of a holiday we used to
curse. We enjoy some time together.

I'll tell them about the bite tomorrow.

22/30 Wars and rumors of wars

We've learned the hard way not to believe the rumors
However certain and rational they may sound
There is no media presence left to fact-check
Just scattered survivors and gangs of hoodlums
Using the state of emergency
As excuse to plunder without consequence.
So when an army tank lumbered down the next street
Turret spinning, machine guns spitting in the night
Loud crashing and grinding of destruction
If seemed like proof.
The good guys were still out there.
Salvation was iminent.
After dawn we ventured out
It was still on the street
Half embedded into the pawn shop
The engine running
The ammo spent
The hatch open
Like our trusting, unguarded hearts
Bloodied, from the inside.

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Day 22 - Jar

A jar hung from the mailbox.

The reason why still eludes me.

Not a note, sign, or

any other marker

to indicate a purpose. Just a pale collection

of dusty snow at the bottom.

I dropped money therein,

a collection tin

for every aspect of my life

that left before I did:

credit cards,

grocery lists,

a cell phone that I had kept

switching on and off, paring the battery

down slowly

hoping to catch one bar of signal

that I could use to call...well,

whatever number would have me.

I emptied my pockets

and filled the glass,

content to see all the items I clung to daily

put in their place and

summed up in the jar,

a trite heap of inconsequential atoms.

Time for me to start living

like the world that contains me. Besides,

I wouldn't need any of it where I was going.

The only thing I kept

was one key,

as my father and mother would likely be upset

if I had to kick down their door.

21/30 Zombie Santa

We're not sure how it happened
But it's hysterically macabre
That someone's pot a Santa hat
On what used to be Old Bob
In life this would have been a crime
To mock the homeless and insane
But now it's wholly justified
Since he's out to eat our brain.
He staggers as he did in life
From 4th to Central Ave
The only difference being now:
How many digits he should have
At first it was a left pinky gone
And then the thumb and ring
For a while he had a peace sign left
Now he's lost the whole darn thing.
He staggers, handless, up and down
In tassled Santa's cap
Though we fly to our windows to see this sight
There's no long winter's nap.
This santa has no reindeer
And can't tell naughty from nice
We watch him pace the snowy streets
And fall down on the ice
We're shocked that we can see him
Since all the lights are out
Then suddenly we city folk see
What that "luster of mid-day" stuff's about
We hope he'll skip our chimney.
His present, he can keep
But whoever dared to don him
With that hat, we almost weep
In the terror of this crisis
Population cut in half
Just the sight of Zombie Santa
Man, we needed that good laugh!

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Zombie 30/30, Poem 21

He faded fast.
He didn't have to go this way.
I'd say suicide, but that suggests
more thought than he seemed to have
at the time. The hipster was bored
with the day to day, which seems
to be inevitable, apocalypse or no.

he wanted to see if the other side
was any better. Now all he has
is the day to day of that, until
we put an end to it. He asked us too,
so I feel better. As if with each
fading breath he's thankful to still need,
he's become the wisest of both worlds.

21/30 - Victim

His leg drags behind-
I avoid all eye contact
there are no victims.

Our eyes glaze over,
we only want to survive,
so we close the door.

Group Slam Piece With Zombie Melissa Newman-Evans, Zombie Matthew Richards, and Sean Patrick Conlon

Melissa: Nhhhhh...

Matthew: Rrrrr...

Sean: Nhhhhhrrrrr...

All: NHHHHHRRRRR...

Sean: Blurg...

Melissa: Unnnnnhblurg...

Matthew: Grrrrrghblurg...

All: UUUUNNNNNHHHHH...Blurg...

Matthew: Rrrrrrgh...

Melissa: Nhhhhhrrrrrgh...

Sean: Rraaagh!

(Zombies Matthew and Melissa look at Sean)

Sean: What? I did that wrong? I can try again...

(Zombies Matthew and Melissa run over to Sean)

Sean: What's going on? Guys, we're on the timer...G--AAAARRRRGH!!! AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

(Pause, (Zombies Matthew and Melissa back away from Sean)

Matthew: Rrrrrrgh...

Melissa: Nhhhhhrrrrrgh...

Sean: Nahrrrrrrgh...

All: RRRRRGH!!!

Epilogue

And on the third day he rose again, despite
the sandaled stumble over apocalypse snow,
despite the shotgun jamming, despite promises
made by older friends who got too close for their
own good. There are some men who can’t be
kept down, some zombies who come twice.
They had seen him walking when the streets were
covered with water. They had seen him wander
through the desert to gather supplies. Watched
the lance pierce his side when there was no
ammo left for the fallen. It was prophesized
that he would come again when the sun rose
in the West. Don’t expect him to save you.

21/30

(In tune of Wheels on the Bus)

All his arteries go
 "pop pop pop
  pop pop pop
  pop pop pop"
All his arteries go
"pop pop pop"
In the jaws of death.

Zombie Apocalypse 30/30 #21 "Zombiecicle""

zombie in winter
crack crunch snap thud- I'm thinking
we can stroll away...

Day 21 - Juliet

A black sheep maybe,

or just a hopeless dreamer; but

her eyes hold no more suns,

they dead as she

on the grass.

The suburbs are replete

with corpses spent like this,

fenced in by comfort

quietly looking at the stars

hoping the heavens would drop

heroes to beat back the dead

that hell dared send.

No such luck.

How many aspirations died with her?

How much of the world

did she grin and bear while waiting

for a moment when she could find the right words

to share?

It would be an affront to the life she spent

keeping herself afloat

to leave the back of her skull, which

those monsters pried open,

peering skyward

and her orbs stuck in the loam,

so I turned her over

and then I saw this face.

Like never before, tears poured from me.

Warm tears. I tried best I could

to keep them silent,

out of respect.

This brave Juliet died with a rose in her teeth

so that when her soul finally slipped

from out her lips,

it could know one thing about her.

20/30 Destination

We never quite know what to do when we reach where we were headed.
Checkpoints turned lost causes with new discoveries of
the undead dancing at the gates, or shelves emptied by raids.
When we get to the airbase it's not easy to get past
military trained zombies - Boot camp makes that shit second nature.
We didn't think that through.
They want to kill, then eat.
The truck plows through, though wearing away with each
thunk of a head bouncing against the undercarriage.
The run to the clinic feels like an hour
of feet rattling off a treadmill
with an echo of marching behind -
I reach the door with Adam, break in.
Ian has his back to us and is open firing.
When the door latches behind us I look through the glass
get a closer glimpse of Ian's back,
blood tricking from a bite at the base of his neck,
Always go down swinging like you're in the big time,
the last round, the best fight of your fucking life.
Exactly how I imagined it.
You gotta plan for the worst,
preparing for friends turned is only natural.
We've reached another destination.
Another checkpoint.
And we're no closer to finding what we're looking for.

20/30 Ornithology in these troubled times

It has spread to the pigeons
They said it was unlikely
But not impossible
And to be honest
The pigeons seemed soul-less in the first place
But having seen them
Clawed and featherless
Eyes even more lifeless
I have come to appreciate the delicate beauty
In the rats of the sky
I once loathed.

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Roommate Of Zombie Tries To Say

I, uh, just ate
the plums
half-rotting
in the fridge

which, uh
you were probably
never
gonna eat

I'm sorry--
wait what are you d-
AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

19/20, 20/20

19/20

 I mean, it was our fault to begin with.
No gods would sermon this on their images.
Nature wouldn't create something simply to
break her own laws.
And finally, there is rest for the wicked.
Survivor or zombie, we don't take chances
other then every nessecary footfall.
Their temple crumbled with change
in the same way Athens got a facelift.

20/20

 Raiding cornerstores has never been so easy.
Once you get past the fact that something inside wants
to devour you, nothing can really hold you back.
Swiftly take care of the endless working shift manager.
Bag whatever it is that could make you risk
living for nothing.
These easy moments are a luxury.

Day 20 - Light

The stagnation of pendulums droning

was a response to

the life we spent

ignoring

our own rhythms, circadian

messages hushed by instruments of

coffee

alcohol

NyQuil and alarm clocks,

uppers, downers,

and so many tasks we owed society

with so little day to do them in

that the night was daytime enough

for those with stimulant eyes.

But the zombies,

barbiturate death dragging

from their heels

they are walking sleep,

night terrors of any hour

and I'd have to think that time

is still relevant somewhere, but

my watch broke last night

when I tripped

because it was too damn dark to see.

Zombie Apocalypse 30/30 #20 "First Thought"

everything makes me
hungry. I haven't eaten
since the burial

Zombie 30/30, Poem 19

It was the first time the chill
broke even slightly, the first storm,
sleeitng the streets so completely,
the cars would have stopped in the street
if they already hadn't. Moving down
a snow-footed path, I found another
figure coming my way. The rest of my group0
was staying in tne lobby of the Hynnes.
There were already rumors spreading
of zombies finding their limberness again
the same way high school friends spread
stories about Boston's non-whites
and the Hara Krisnas while traveling
to and from the city on the commuter rail.
And here I was, faced with the urge
to cross the street for the first time
since my first year as an Emerson student.
We both stepped toward slowly, afraid
to provoke. When we both crossed,
that's when we knew. When I came by to talk
that's when I saw his badge, fixed on
a non-uniform heavy coat, his right pocket
a holster for his pistol. A policeman
before, he saw no reason to stop.
Or more to the point, he saw nothing else
he could do and couldn't wait to do
some semblance of a patrol. Apologizing
for the suspicion, he was relieved
to see another, wondeing out loud
how long he would be able to so
easily define friend from foe,
distinguish those with purpose.

19/30 - Brakes

Ian's eyes stare through the road
absent of emotion,
not recognizing of the being in the street.
Her hands are above her head,crossing her arms back and forth
flash light gone lighthouse in December air.
Exhaust kicks at the pavement beneath us
and we are moving tidal waves on black water
Adam and I exchange glances and reach
for the wheel, a mutiny uprising,
she still hasn't budged from the yellow lines
wanting life preserver or death
walking the plank out of exhaustion from keeping afloat
muscles rotting away under skin
from lack of food, water, exercise.
I struggle to pull my eyes from her and
in an instant, darkness surrounds us.

19/30 Zombie Halloween

When zombies trick-or-treat

They put on skin

Cover drooling mouths

With zombie grins

Hide ghastly necks with double chins

But when they knock,

Don't let them in.

Day 19 - Laceration

I see him.

The road here is flat, and I spot him

from quite a distance.

Still human, or at least

not yet turned. There is no

discernable wound or injury, seemingly

no evidence of infection.

He sees me as well.

He is roughly eighty meters away;

by my calculations

we will cross paths in forty-five seconds.

I have that long to plan my words carefully.

Given the circumstances

a once-standard "hello" would be strange.

But I can't come off as harsh

or uncooperative; even if he will not be an ally

I don't need an enemy.

Especially a sentient one.

How far should my hand be from my gun?

Too close

could incite aggression on his part,

too far could get me killed.

I wonder if he will tell me

what lies in the direction he comes from,

and how I can get him to tell me.

My mind is piled deep with images,

heaps of bodies

strewn forgetfully, spilling

from their casings

in the city.

I wonder if he will tell me

if they soak the country

grey and red, as well.

It's hard to trust anyone,

I shouldn't, I know, I've seen

the regret

pooled around those who have.

But there is so much

that could be gained.

Close.

A few more steps now.

I'm biting my tongue

so hard I am bleeding,

I taste the metal of polished words

ready to burst from behind my lips

but as I pause in my tracks

ready to speak

he waves his hand once, midstride,

clears his throat

and without meeting my eye

continues past me

without a word.

He shuffles on down the road

like it was nothing at all.

18/30 twilight hours

When zombies dream

And dream they do

What do they think of

And are their nightmares

Scarier

Than their reality?

Zombie Apocalypse 30/30 #19 "Barker"

It all comes down to this: parts is parts; that's true
no matter if you're a mechanic or just a regular joe
struggling to put a puzzle together. I'm in charge
of the haunted house at this traveling carnival,
and you'd think, that with all this shit going on
that people would stop going to places like this.
I think it's just the opposite – people need us
to show them a horror they can look in the face,
and it doesn't matter if they blink, they're safe
behind the chicken-wire and 2-inch plexi-glass.
Like I say, there's always money in the aftermath

of tragedy; No ill wind that doesn't want to give
someone a blow job. Like me – the ringmaster
and the backstage staff, all in one. I sell tickets
too. I'll make some popcorn if you've got some.
I'm just trying to put on a show in difficult times,
trying to spread some smiles around. it's hard
work, but you have to have a purpose; an idea
that keeps you going like a candle in the dark
that lets you throw curses at the darkness. I am
always looking for the next big thing, if anything
I am a master at being resourceful. I've created

great new attractions from the available parts:
arms for coat-hooks with the hands attached,
as you enter my freak-show; teeth that snap
in the dark; I've hooked a heart up in stereo
for a soundtrack. Do you like that? Do you want
to know some of my ideas? Yes, I have ideas
for new attractions. It's not like we're in danger
of running out of raw materials anytime soon.
So come one, come all, to the greatest show left
on the planet. Pay what you have, we have three
rings, seven seals, seven trumpets blowing...

Zombie 30/30, Poem 18

My mother Slams The Door
for The First Time On Her Family

It was in-laws, to be fair.
My uncle, who was slow even
before the frost-bitten plague.
A Rhode Island native. Was he
caught on his usual landscaping route,
or did he finally drive by Mom's
in an attempt to mend fences
he'd left to be weeded over
before the apocalypse
forced us to slack on lawn care?

Whatever. It was just as the cold
snap came down. She doesn't say
what happened afterward, but I know.
It was more what she did before
his thrashing hand started to slow,
before my uncle's clumsy bulk started
slumping and sliding, his jaw
the only thing keeping him up.

My mother, with her burden
of a husband and a father
in sickbeds. My sister and I
constantly visiting her like
two hopeless strays without
even the tails between our legs.
She said her wave of her hand
strong and calm, like a priest's ward,
was her first selfish act.
She wondered what she would have done
had her uncle, who quit cutting
her lawn weeks before my father's death,
been alive and expectant of her graces
like a cat too fat to stand on hinds for treats.

18/30 - Happy Holidays

I had forgotten the holidays
were fast approaching
until I saw one
fast approaching
wearing the ugliest sweater
ever created, green and gold,
bulky now dripping red blood,
reindeer dancing and celebrating,
unaware of the carnage at their feet.

Day 18 - Legs

Who am I?

I have no one to answer me this,

and will have to sit here

among dirt and rubble, until I sort it out

myself. Here is good. Out there

I am not safe from them, nor they from me.

So I will stay for now.

Without motion, causation

is not enacted. The dead

waited their whole lives,

they can a little longer.

Always just in the periphery of my sight

silverfish crawl

I think I see them,

legs like so many Latin roots,

squirming in ways impossible to forget

writhing subconscious

I want to vomit something relevant

as they slide

replaying ocular shadows

the floaters on my eyes know nothing,

or is it everything? They run

when I try to look

and will never let me judge them fairly.

17/30 - Weapon

Pull start I am running
warm and fluid.
There is a humming
ringing through my ears,
amplifies on impact.
Grinding teeth have never
sounded so good.
I will tear through the decay
of flesh and bone that wishes
to tear through what it once was.
We eat out of habit -
survival is an instinct
even when there is no blood pumping.
We are all weapons,
waiting to fire.

17/30, 18/30

17/30Some would claim a sawed-off is the way to do it.
But large bursts get stuck in pockets of tissue.

Knives are too short. One misjudged movement,
and it's game over.

A bat is effective, good range, and not too much splatter.
But your gonna need practice, and arm strength, to keep going.
So batter up if thats the case.

But for me, I find there's nothing more effective then a tight knot or two,
leather in my sole, and open road.
Distance was always a weapon people used on me.
Now it's the only thing left.

18/30

 There was a poetry reading in Jaffrey NH.
Alot of zombies came out to be seen.
They wrote about family, the old days, and worn lovers,
but mostly, the deep horrors and fears that come with
the silly sci-fi thrill of
human apocalypse.

Zombie 30/30, Poem 17

No one screams near me
when a finger's lost--or a head.
True purpose at last.

Zombie Apocalypse 30/30 #18 "Rising, Wandering"

I'm awake because I need to eat.
My bare feet slap on the cold floor.
All I wanted to do was sleep.

It feels like I haven't, for weeks
or maybe months, or maybe more.
I'm awake because I need to eat

something warm and wet – raw meat.
I remember a perfect steak tar tar...
All I wanted to do was sleep,

now I'm trying remember recipes,
while trying to remember what for.
I'm awake because I need to eat,

my stomach full of blasphemy.
I thirst for terror, I dress in gore.
All I wanted to do was sleep

but that is peace denied to zombies.
Spreading, we are at your every door.
I'm awake because I need to eat.
All I wanted to do was sleep.

Zombie Apocalypse 30/30 #17 "The Lonesome Death of Matthew Richards" or "What Are Friends For?"

Matthew... I want to say I'm sorry, but I'm not
going to waste those kind of words, not now.
We both knew that if things ever went bad
for one of us, we knew we could trust the other
to do the right thing, the kind thing, the only
thing that matters: Don't let me become one
of them! I won't, I promised you. We played
the odds, just like everybody trying to stay
alive these days. It wasn't that I was better
at this than you; it was just you who fell down
at the wrong time, whose gun jammed, who
knew as well as anyone, there is a zombie
out there with our name on its cold, wet lips.
I am your friend always. I promise to do it quick.

17/30 what remains of her

That poor poor woman
We met the day she shot me
In the dairy aisle
Or, rather, in my ankle
Which was in that aisle.
I was fortunate she missed
At least mostly missed
And that she only had birdshot
And she was far away
Cowering behind spoiled milk
What was left of it.
She did not answer my cries
And for a moment
I feared They had taken arms
Were now on the hunt
Until I heard her sobbing.
Only a flesh wound
It seemed I could walk on it
I shouted, "I'm leaving!"
The faint reply came,
"No, please, not you too. Please! please..."

Day 17 - Linear

I am one-sixth of your cylinder.

I am the unbirth potential of your chamber.

And I'm speaking to you only because you are thinking on me;

regardless of the way you turn phrases

metal has no mouth.

But listen when I say that

I am no answer to your interrogation,

I am just punctuation,

a solid point with

enough space for shocked silence in my wake.

Remember that I have no room

for judgments, my trajectory

is A to B,

a straight line that has no area; don't try

to fit conscience in there.

I am duty

streamlined.

I am not anarchy,

I am simply one straightforward course

of action and the only thing stopping me

is you.

Zombie Apocalypse 30/30 #16 "Gunning for Matthew Richards (A Prologue)"

this haiku exists
as warning: you've gone all
zombie, I must kill you...

Zombie 30/30, Poem 16

Zombie dreams eating
own self, same dream as before
when he was alive.

16/30 - Westover

Mother always said
don't preach what you can't practice:
When I said we should get a plane
They looked at me
Like preevolution struck me
insane, but we needed to take action,
shoot for the head
is not enough to get though
til the end. It took convincing
and confidence,
I'll admit - arguing made me feel
alive again - human for caring.
Endless opinions
swim around the tuck cabin,
there are no winners here.
There is only settling -
if they are walking around dead
on different continents,
we pray for enough bullets
to shatter our spines from our brains.

16/30 Too late for smoke signals

Startled from our sleep

By a noise growing louder

We lurch for weapons

Vibrating windows

The whir of helicopters

Potential rescue

Scrounging for flashlights

Pale beam of light shot skyward

Fades into darkness

Startled from our sleep

The whir of helicopters

Fades into darkness

Zombie 30/30, Poem 15

We came back home
spent of our death-scene
cliches from our mouth,
failure written
in footprints behind us.

We raced scenarios:
What if they stay till it thaws?
What if they don't rot enough?

Our curfews got earlier.
The broken hipster roomed with me
claiming the need for sleep
but took first watch anyway.

Our safety on a time limit,
we couldn't stay anymore.
Our warmest clothing
and sharpest edges

We'd move forward like
Spartans, cleaning behind us
until the last point,
taking back our sense
of security.


I called Mom one last time
before the lines were
finally lost.

Already miles away,
her voice
only sounded fainter
as I left the steps
to my apartment

and children started off
five paces behind
fathers with bats
the occassional gun
slinged for final exit
instead of roaring charge.

14/30, 15/30, 16/30

Been having computer issues. As in not having one that works. But this is fixed.

14/30

 Mouth full of heart attacks
Chest burning octives barely over a groan.
Curl her lips over on herself and watch
how pretty things turn.

15/30

This was a badly
broken melody
since day one.
When your feet evolve
to pump gasoline thunder
just to keep moving,
one tends to forget the simple truths to
how ugly scenery unfolds to become.

16/30

There were zombies at beat night.
Portsmouth bayed with her lost dive bars.
The sewage drains started looking like the cliches we
hide all our most vital parts behind.
I didn't realize hipsters ever even HAD heartbeats,
till it echoed through the still plugged microphone
now rammed through a chest cavity.

15/30 - Uprooted

Marbles forgotten on the table
quake shake and roll
scattering, falling to the ground
resounding impact,
bounce - hit softer the next time.
Roll to the middle of the floor
exposed to the elements.
Ian, Adam and I are in the white pickup
heading west.
We heard the Jeeps engine turn over
but stiff necked and hurried
we didn't look back.
Lost them.
We talk radio for hours
whisper static
about strategies and preparedness.
About next time.
How much momentum do we have?
How long until we stop rolling
and reach a resting place?

15/30 Vote Zombie

McCain Palin shirt

Same clothes he wore that last day

He has not bathed once

Day 16 - Legato

killed her I

shot

the air her bullets were

was instinct the dead

but not quite

I fell the gun shot breathing

isn't no hurts to

shot

shot the gun dead but

wasn't no I

I killed I

killed her the blood

shouldn't

be it so fast was

back

put it back

Day 15 - Instinct

She knocked me out of my fucking tree.

I had taken to sleeping tangled

in branches because

the undead aren't too adept

at climbing, and if they did try,

they'd definitely wake me up

from my earth-born safehouse

banging on the trunk and vomiting shapeless noises

before they'd lay a finger on me.

I just never expected a zombie

to crash a sedan into the tree, apparently

I forgot to account for the half-turned,

those still operating with some cognitive function

but driven by an underlying

primal hunger. A dangerous combination.

I woke immediately from the impact,

but my tree was already starting

its slow-motion descent

during which I managed to lean so that the branch

absorbed most of the impact, and in

the process of weaving out from

the leaves that covered my escape

she vaulted the trunk and

leapt, heaving the frame of a woman

only beginning to succumb to rot

towards me

and something buried for my entire life

clicked

somewhere in the tangled

nerves reaching from my spine

instict took my hands

instict grabbed the revolver,

pointed, and

instict bled to my fingers.

One,

two.

Two sounds like the sky being cracked open.

Zombie Apocalypse 30/30 #15 "Communion"

First, you have to drop your prejudices
against the dead. We're the same as you
in a lot of ways. We don't lose any sleep
over what's happened to us, other than
the 'big sleep.' We're just trying to get by

as well as we can, in the time we have
left, before we lose ligaments and tendons
to rot and we fall apart like bad puzzles.
That's right – we have health concerns
just like you air-suckers. That's our name

for you people. The Warm Ones. Pulse
Babies. You're all such hypocrites, all
of you. You love the way we're portrayed
in the movies; the enterprising ones
amongst you even create one or more

of us. But if you meet us in the street,
on neutral ground, it's all "Scream" this,
and "shoot 'em in the head" that. Life
and Death are connected naturally. Why
can't we all get along? Are we so awful

when you really look at us? Our beauty
is raw and savage; it changes every day.
We don't have the skin for it to be deep.
We are creatures as obvious as we are
honest. We're a known quantity. You know

what you get with us. But we'd like it
if you didn't call us "zombies." It's racist,
factually inaccurate. We're the "Returned,"
we are Revenants, some of us prefer being
called "Cannibal-Americans." We choose

our names 'cause names are important.
Otherwise you are whatever people call
you. There is a man many of you worship
because he rose from the dead. Zombies
believe we were made in his mirror image:

he asks that you eat of his flesh, and drink
of his blood. He asks you to shamble towards
the light. We are the opposite of that, eating
and drinking from others; walking towards
the cool darkness, chewing his Holy Name.

Zombie 30/30, Poem 14

Zombies sleep standing
dreaming of those they've eaten
and wake up hungry.

14/30 The Things We Can Touch

Each day trigger pulls
click click clicking
typewriter keys
red ink on snow
rolling sheets of paper
The things we can no longer touch will follow us.

Today one broke through
the hatchway door
after scratch scratch scratching
relentlessly for days.
Determined weight-
the things we want to touch will haunt us.

My hands wrapped around
his head like a football
catch twist c-c-crack
I was grateful for
once-human contact.
The things we can touch never feel like we expect.

14/30- Everybody gets one

said Spiderman, as
he threw out his tanka web
so I'd keep working
on my final projects and
not be eaten by zombies.

14/30 Spam (ghazal)

Fallout shelter Spam; never so thankful for mystery meat.

Holding the shape of the can, It is more edible the less it resembles meat.

Where I'd once looked for marbling, fresh redness, and bone,

I can stomach no carving, save this uniform pinkness that was once real meat.

We strike the balance, slicing thin, not mangling, sparing memories of brains.

We have seen too much carnage, too much tearing of skin from meat.

Craving protein, and sick of the taste of canned peanuts.

The whole city is a butcher shop, but now we are the sides of meat.

We dare not venture out. We see what has happened to the ones who've tried.

It is not said aloud. We dare not call them dead. It is too kind. They've become walking meat.

Sheltered below the theater, we empathize with the cattle we once consumed.

Reminisce about PETA propagandists, trying to guilt us into giving up meat.

We tell each other in Hawaii they love this stuff. We both know it already.

We dream we are there, insulated from this mess, that we could once again stomach meat.

Day 14 - Planet

Mind is spinning, need sleep.

Climb to a covered,

safe place to lie, wrapped up

in the limbs and leaves of an oak.

And listen.

I listen to what is left,

the planet humming

words too big for my ears

the dirt gasping

with many wormlike mouths

and I think

something in between

as sleep drapes over me,

completely free of the dead.

Zombie Apocalypse 30/30 #14 "Brains- the Fuel of Excellence" by Tony "Bite You in The Face" Robbins"

(from a prompt by Paulie Lipman)

I’ve always been ambitious. Call it a hunger
‘cause I have made meals of my adversaries
and anyone else who ever stood in my way.
I was born a talker. I’ve always been good
with my mouth. I am ravenous for success,

I am smart and well-liked and I deserve to win
at any game I choose. Look at how I dress –
none of that “just dug my ass out of the grave”
nonsense. I dress to kill and I’m a death threat
when I wear an Armani suit. You can’t afford

these shoes, and my trench-coat costs more
than your average air-breather has ever seen
in their lives. You can recognize me because
I drive a sick car, I’m the zombie puts the “alpha”
in Alpha Romero. That’s an inside joke. Keep up

with me if you can, because I am going places
the living dead have never even dared to dream
of shambling towards. Those shining bright lights
in my rear-view mirror is another world-class city
in flames. I have my eyes dead-fixed on the goal:

the next city. I have invested in razor-sharp teeth,
a smooth and natural walk, and the clear night vision
to see myself right where I want to be in five years:
my own boss, eating brains because I want to, not
because I have to. The whole world is my oyster. Yum.