The zombie horde is here.
You see them wandering through town
eyes cast down
faces gleaming in reflected glow.
They don’t notice anything
beyond the little screen
that disengages in the lie
of social connection,
introspection?
Zombies don’t know how
to greet a stranger with a smile
to meet a new friend’s eyes.
Their thumbs down
they’re dumbed down.
Mindless, spineless,
hypnotized, mesmerized,
To numb to despise the device
that drugs them ’til they hum,
with zombie poison.
In the black room,
the light from the
DVD player claims
it’s 12:00.
12:01.
12:02.
Every minute
counting down to you.
12:03
Are you dreaming of me?
I pass the old man
on his balcony.
Huge sunglasses
through which he watches
like a
diurnal owl;
the world unfolds below him.
Just like my dad liked to sit.
I don’t wipe away
my tear.
You’re creating a story
folded into the pages of the book
It’s not the story the author intended.
It’s not what people expect to see.
But your folds and cuts
tell your story,
and your story
is enough.
I feel your humming.
Though you are far,
the vibrations of your present loss
reverberate.
I am humming
remembering you
near
nearer
nearest
wrapped around
my memories
squeezing like
a garbage compactor
humming
as it crushes
moments into
memories.
It’s all just possibility,
isn’t it?
The hopes
The dreams
The wishes.
What ifs that linger about us
orbiting like electrons, protons, neutrons
Actively giving us
possibilities
if only we can combine the other elements
to bring them to reality.
Back to basics
the spine taps into essentials.
Step on a crack,
break your mother’s back!
Which kid stomped?
I wonder.
Hot pad back
on the back.
Higher
then lower
Remaining upright
to write excites nerves.
I wish I were
back in bed.
My stomach is a stormy ocean
and I am an ocean liner,
furniture sliding left and right,
uncomfortably.
Captain stands firmly at the helm,
looking forward,
aiming for calm,
hoping the ship
does not betray his confidence.
Isn’t it
lovely to just sit
some days
and watch the world go by,
just spying and rumination
without any kind of expectation.
Isn’t it
lovely to sit
for just a little bit.
Shawn L. Bird 