Yeah, I got an email that said "why haven't you been posting". I guess I just overslept or something. Well, anyway, I'm back, so you can all relax. I know there have been some close calls, but let's face it, there hasn't been the mome rath born who can outgrabe me.

Well, except for the one the neighbor's kid owns. That is one heck of a mome rath. I mean, it ourgrabes like nobody's business.

So, what has happened in my absence?

Don't all speak up at once.

Yeah, that was ironic. And I feel guilty about it, ok. It's just sometimes I feel like being ironic. I mean, everyone else is doing it? Right?

Fine. Be that way. You'll be sorry one day. You all will!

Anyway, I'll share a poem with you. It is from a series I'm working on called Poems about Zombies

Zombie Holocaust
They want to eat your brains
grey goo in a blood sauce
served warm on a spinal cord stick
in a calcified bowl
(presentation is everything)

Maybe they need to expand
their army of decay
planting that bite on you
releasing the unknown toxin
into your system so you only see
your friends as delivery vectors

but anyway you slice it
the zombie holocaust is coming.

If you don't believe me, just turn on
the TV
The news reports all muddled and conflicting accounts
and you think maybe a war is starting
a surprise attack
throwing everyone into disarray.

"Weren't we ready for this?"
the neighbors ask
"We survived 9/11, we can survive this,"
they say confidently

but that is before the power stops
and before the cops and ambulances stop coming
and the TV is blank
and the phone stops working
and the radio is silent.

A moment or two of true silence.
Scary, isn't it?

Then the next morning a stranger wanders into town
he looks and smells like death warmed over.
You never knew what that phrase meant,
but now you do.

He's followed by a few dozen or hundred
of his friends
each looking a little worse than the last
like a sixteen car pile up
like their bodies are made of spare parts
meat left in the sun too long.

Perhaps you recognize some of the faces
by some miracle,
but what good does it do?
Maybe you never really connected
with this person
or maybe this one
was your lover
but now what is the use?
You see her flesh with new eyes
as it suppurates and spills

And you think, as they close in
"Why didn't I see her clearly?"
but it is too late.

Tag, you're IT.

So, I have lots of stuff to tell y'all, but I'm at work and it's my turn to use the shovel so I've got to go! More tomorrow.

Reading An ancient Hoodoo Zombie manual
Wishing I hadn't spilt my Zombie Poweder on my dog
Plotting to be somewhere else when the dead finally start to rise