Nothing quite like a good Zombie movie to make you laugh
all that blood and guts, biting and killing and eating flesh.
Dante would have been impressed.

No one told me,
Death, was a she
She stopped by my house,
We had tea
She spread her black wings
In my sitting room,
She was beautiful
But smelled of doom,
I called her a *****,
She said to me,
"Sorry, my dear,
I'm necessity."

I see the burial party, pallbearers,
priest, a single mourner
and the gravedigger leaning on his *****.
I am in the box lowered six feet down
its my turn, and there is no coming back.
How many centuries will time tick on
how far into a future will I be forgot?
What date chiselled into my headstone
may amaze a perusing wanderer ?

there's a dead man who sits in the corner of the room and sings everyday
he looks kind of familiar, but I'm not sure
he looks kind of happy, kind of in love, kind of free
I watch him everyday, and listen to him sing
he ain't bad, I can tell by his smile, but he ain't good either
but he keeps on singing, Alleluia, and points at the man in the mirror.

another mortar shell slams into mother Earth
and we say because it missed hitting anyone
there are no casualties.

these bones that hide away
have seen us thus far
thus far and no further
and the flesh falls off
as skeletons dance a jangle
round the graveyard night
while fleshy creatures
still in the flesh dream
dream that nightmares
are not real.

there is a night that lives behind closed eyes
where no day ever dawns
its deep and dark and is the place where all must travel
alone.

we are dying all the time
the wonder is
we find life in death

Do birds still welcome the morning with their song in a besieged city
do they still build nests and raise young
or are they unaccounted refugees along with all others
if the morning chorus is silent and the birds no longer sing
what hope for a poet in such a Godforsaken place
except to sing of death.

death at the end of my fingertips
I wield a world of sorrow

but always waiting gently
is a place called love

and passing through my first adventure
I find a place called home

and death is a distant memory
where sorrow died too.

all those memories stashed away under your skullcap
a nightly dreamtime the reward at the end of day
its one of the last frontiers and its just behind your eyes
a place so unique with so many different computations
and yet can be so recurring it can seem like a haunting
a nightmare without end, a place of demons.

Man came down from the trees
walked out the forest
and returned with an axe
- carrying the worst disease
trees had no defence against.

I gonna leave a cadaver
not a corpse
so a student of medicine can practise their craft
and you never know,
I might end up being some kind of Frankenstein
writing poetry in a freaky circus.