Eerie Existentialism

What does death mean
     when a flesh eating corpse
          slowly stumbles through the night
               Do the undead live?

This is my time of year

Hi all.  It's my favorite time of year.  The trees start dropping their leaves (will they come back from the dead next year?).  My brain will be taxed a bit as I attempt to get you new poems.  But also check out some other creations I am dropping off in the Twinkleberry Cottage (http://www.etsy.com/shop/twinkleberrycottage).  Some of them are already selling!  Keep your eyes peeled on the shop.

Bad News

You may want to scream
Your eyes do not deceive you
The dead walk again

"Lost" in creation

I thought that you might be interested in watching me create my latest poem, Lost.  I have heard that creative people work in messy places, but I don't seem to mind (I have my late night snack in hand, just in case).  I even have Noir and Nox helping me out.  It seems that I also left out a roll of mummy wrap.  Hmm, who do I need to preserve for later?

Lost

I find myself wandering in the city
           without haste

This is like a dream of the damned
Trudging through blood smeared streets
     rotten human corpses everywhere

I curse the foul wind of the dead
The night is dark but for some moonlight

A moan in the shadows
                          and then I run

It sucks living in a zombie apocalypse

An Old Coat's Advice

Avast, ye lily-livered land lubber
when Davey Jones wants his pound of flesh
ye shall ne'er escape his hungry horrors
Cursed, mindless grotesques with rotten skin
feasting on bone & blood
Creatures who yield naught in a fight
lest thee make a musket shot to the head

Mr. Dead

A corpse is a corpse
of course, of course,
and everyone knows
you can't talk to a corpse.
Of course, of course
unless of course,
the corpse is the famous Mr. Dead.