The R-Town Zombie Invasion (revised)

I was headed out on my way to work when I walked by a passive retail clerk
who had empty eyes and a blank look. So I stopped him and threw a right hook,
and grabbed the tire iron behind the seat and beat him down to the concrete.
I knew this poor bastard had been bit and he would probably never make it.
The R-town zombie invasion had begun. I knew the undead had finally come.

So I called Tyler and Sheebs, but they were already on their way to see me.
There was a group between our trucks. So we sped up, jumped out and ducked.
The sky lit up and left the group dead 'cause of all the nitroglycerin in the bed
that I keep for situations just like this, 'cause I always knew that zombies exist.
Out of ammo, so we went to the gun store ’cause we’d been through this before,
but the guy at the desk had that same look and thirst. So we shot that fuck first.

I saw some zombie kids headed off to school, but to them I couldn't be as cruel.
Rather than shoot them in the head, I ran them over with a school bus instead.
John lopped off the head of an old bitch and she fell down and started to twitch.
Kevin beat in a ghoul's brain with a spade like he was on a fucking crusade,
and tore off another's arm with his own hands and beat down a marching band,
Brock pushed a shopping cart full of kerosene at some fat chicks with ice cream
and shot off a round that blew off their faces, and their hair, and their braces.

We hit the streets with shotguns and grenades as the zombies began to invade,
and decided we probably needed an assist, so we called all our friends to enlist,
but none of 'em lasted too long 'cause it was only we who had been ready all along.
We blew up the mall and shot up Wal-Mart, but all of that was just the start.
I rigged explosives to McDonald’s and BK, and then burned down China Buffet.
We attacked every place where people go and left Richmond with a new asshole.

We hit the quarries on 121 and 227, 'cause the damned don't get into Heaven,
and took two giant dump trucks 'cause they were dead and didn't give a fuck.
Then we siphoned gas from Speedway and Shell after we sent them all to Hell,
and turned the town into a police state and then we reassembled for our fate
to blockade all of the roads and doors and load back up to prepare for more.

With Molotov cocktails and machetes, the fucking undead will never be ready
for the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse who severe heads and empty clips
like a little kid begging for some candy. So sit back and crack open the brandy
and celebrate the end of this shithole town as we four turn it all upside down.
When you see us next you may want to grin. Otherwise we’ll have to kill again.
The pandemic will spread across the USA. I've waited my whole life for this Z-Day.

the passion of perdition.

enter sedition.
and they,
thwarting few pockets
of passionate resistance,
and grossly underestimating
our complete displeasure,
all but hand the world over.

civil disobedience is ultimately
much more beautiful
than the swollen, setting sun.
hand in hand, hand to hand
we pass the shells
like a quarter mile relay.

and they being cowards
and we being brave
bring a timely color
to an otherwise transparent world
with cocktails and songbird songs.

consumed by the hate,
welcome to the end:
nothing will fucking remain.

the statistic of one.

it's 10:13 PM.
I've been
here
before.
I know this story
like I know the back of my hand.
I've always known you
too well
to ever love you.
there is more truth in that
than anything
you've ever said.
I'm drunk again.
and on edge.
just like those times on Main Street
when I would break dinner trays
and put holes
into the walls
and break window panes
that I always promised to fix.
I would say I never knew what came over me
but I did and I still do
and I feel that self-destructive
rage
that only I could feel.
they say that only those with little
respect
for themselves
destroy themselves.
that's undoubtedly true in every case.
except mine.
the mighty and the savage
are divided by
a line.
I crossed that line
long ago.
a lifetime
is a long time.
I know this story
like I know the back of my hand.

Summer Nights

The summer nights are filled to the brim
with choices of ease made only on whim,
with the bottle rockets and signal flares
that spit out, light up and fog the air,
and rash cruises with a part faulty GPS
that never stop or ever hinder progress,
with a twenty-five year-old acting five
on trampolines, for a few minutes alive,
and with a bonfire that defied dark sky
that began to rise while I tried to dry.

The King of Awful Things

All nine legions underneath my command,
made of staunch men from a lion's glen,
with their eyes afire and hands abrand,
tiered the valley for their final stand.

In the cold expanse of December night,
which Luna kept and while others slept,
and behind their faces painted white,
they waged their last and final fight.

The blood spilt and flowed until dawn,
and I, the king, made of awful things,
praised the first and last feline pawn,
and told them the world had finally gone.