Zombie Haiku Cycle
I.
I am alone in
the basement. Above, I hear
them shuffle, groaning.
An open body
on a table, autopsy
tools, no answers.
How did it start here,
in the morgue? I risked my life
and still know little.
No matter, no mind.
Where else? I dont know. I grab
a bonesaw and leave.
Memory. This I
have as I ascend, only
this and a bonesaw.
II.
It is raining in
the graveyard. Im not alone,
they move around me.
The horror is new.
I run, react, seek solace
in the familiar.
They are not like me.
They are slow. They are stupid.
They are only meat.
I think of my wife.
We meet, embrace. Our mouths touch,
she pulls off my face.
I leave them behind.
An empty police station
is where I arrive.
Sites of eruption,
red triangles on a map.
There is a pattern.
Point of origin;
the hospital morgue. I go.
It is still raining.
III.
Am I alone in
this building? No. I hear them
behind me, moaning.
Sick bodies in scores,
soon dead and walking again,
fill the corridors.
The smell finds me first.
Fetid, a cloud pushing. I
turn and confront them.
Wielding the bonesaw,
I am madness. I am rage.
Pieces. Chunks. Pieces.
Yet still more come. So
many. I am surrounded.
Too many! Too man-
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