Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Storming the Gates

The candy smell of rot is in the air.
I can smell them just as they
must smell us

I hold the boy close
resting my chin on his sweaty hair
His body is shaking
I try to hug it out of him, hug the panic away

I can hear their moaning now,
their endless billowing mantra

I think of bed sheets on the line
the feeling on my fingers
as I hold them to my face
breathing in the sun dried cotton

I tell the boy
about the convoy that has flanked them
about high caliber artillery and armored battalions
about reinforced fortresses that the undead cannot overtake
where his parents sleep safely

I create a world with heroes, kingdoms, myths and eras
It took God seven days and I do it in moments
The boy must know my whispers are only lies
but I pray they comfort him

I have wondered about what lurks
behind their dried out eyes
They can track and discern
dismantle and feast
there is something going on in that cold grey slop
even if it can no longer register pain
or recognize their families

I’m not wondering about that now
The sound of planks being smashed and torn off the windows
inject both our hearts with poison
The boy grabs my ribs so hard it hurts

I hold the oily revolver to my nose, and the smell of gunpowder in the
chambers reminds me of my grandfather

I whisper to the boy about
his pipe and cardigans,
the drafting table where he designed ships for the navy
and his view of the Hudson river from his office

He had a long warm face and spoke warm things to me
and I don’t tell the boy that I’m glad
he didn’t live to see this happen to the world

The moaning is closer, more fevered
I promised the boy I would never let the zombies take him
He must know what that must mean now

The door is pulled from its hinges
and the gun fires twice

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Smoove moves

Someone I went to high school with changed his facebook status to: just found out my friend John lost his mother last night.

Now don't get me wrong - I like the guy, he's really a nice person, but WTF!? I can't give my friend condolences. And really, I can't give him condolences to pass to a stranger.

It's basically a bum out status that nobody can do anything with.

Rant over.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

For Sale: One Pack of Wolves

For Sale: One Pack of Wolves
Own Your Own Wolf Pack! 7 fully grown and highly aggressive timber wolves. Loyal, but require regular activity and feeding. Buyer must pay shipping. Motivated Seller.


Struggling with my first crowbar,
my apartment was full
of the thick musk of sawdust
and the squealing of wood being pried from nails.

The crate burst at the seams
like a cymbal crash
my apartment was full of wolves
and ruined upholstery,
and decorations.

How shiny they were
all brand new
glistening of slick fur sheets,
shining of eyes like mercury,
glinting of teeth lined up
in rows of sweating ivory arrowheads.

Constantly grooming and nipping in
a violently writhing heap
like pissed off snakes
in a pillowcase.


That first night was awful
howling at the moon, TV, new cage
and neighbors knocking at ceilings and floors
with broomsticks and shoe-heels
as if that would help.

I lay in bed, thinking about
the tundra, forest and steppes where they may have
once hunted in packs, flanked their quarry and
huddled at night for warmth.

I wondered how much it would be to ship them home.


The next morning,
in a stroke of smug irony
I wore my red hooded sweatshirt
and took them to central park.

They sniffed at flowers
drank from fountains
chased a yellow frisbee
and devoured the man who threw it.

It was nice to see them perking up.

They moved from prey to prey,
with the lethal efficiency a Rio street gang.

They tore apart
the couple kissing on a plaid blanket
the mother and her six year old son
who mistook them for a dog sled team

They disemboweled they street investor
who screamed for mercy into his mobile phone headset.

The old lady was torn limb from limb,
her remains folded over her walker,
decanting gallons of blood.

3 joggers
a bicyclist
a mounted police officer
and his horse
came apart like pulled pork.

Indignation, entitlement, desperation, blind panic —
devoured in a tsunami of graceful brutality
as were six college students and one mime.


For Sale: One Pack of Wolves
Own Your Own Wolf Pack! 7 fully grown and highly aggressive timber wolves. Loyal, but require regular activity and feeding. Buyer must pay shipping. Motivated Seller.