Zombie Love

Is this the place? They said it was the place Where small evils rule and sagging cuties cruise And fat clumsy zombies hump themselves into a frenzy In the dead of night. So is it, any such? They said I could just drop in, They’re always home at night… Is this the place where hideous hot-blooded zombies Wake and fall in love and rut in mud, Ring silent silver bells in heat, reproduce as such, And wear each other's fingers out? They rush ahead, but don’t they know Those fingers, lips, and tongues Will fall off soon and turn to mush and dust? This is the place where maiden aunts Point out that even youthful bosoms Must turn concave at last without a touch of mirth And sport the smell of must As much as lust and lavender Or damp asshole and chilly earth. Oh God, they’re getting up, they’re crawling out! They still can yearn for love and touch even if only Stitches, spit, and formaldehyde hold their insides in, Even if love stinks or drools too much in bed Or most lose all mortal pleasure in its exquisite touch When thick dark discharges ooze and spread like murk Across their once-expansive now breathless breastwork. rcs. Current draft: 3/1/2010 Created on 12/26/2009 11:34 AM