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Thursday, August 23, 2012

Zombie Hope

Hungry hunter with no taste for food.
Prowling with festered flesh;
habit without mind.
No function in the rot,
just blood;
icy dripping out as routine
slowly clutches hopes and grim desire.
Fuel for the sweet drag
and cancer for the road.

Each day is a band aid
or a torn scab;
a war with only a thirst
and a timed water fountain;
Broken plumbing
versus a plumber's reroute.
Soon the beast will fade,
but the new love
must replace the wretched food.

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