Drooling Buckets of Want and Fear into the Revolution, A Poem by Chris Russell

I’ve played zombie video games

and seen so many zombie movies

you could stretch them out

and make a sausage factory out of them.

But I’m really at a loss for words

when it comes to understanding why.

I imagine them walking around

being pulled in different directions

by things that emit heat and warmth

and make noise

drooling buckets of want and fear

into the revolution of toddlerhood

for a never-ending slurp of mother.

Aside from that though,

their meaning escapes me

and just sort of stands there

in a wide-open consciousness

and doesn’t notice anything,

just bumps into the self,

then goes about its merry way,

unimpressed by pretty much everything,

this vague discomfort winding in

and throughout a moment

you can’t quite locate

or communicate with

except by moaning about it.

That’s why I’ve decided

I’m going to think differently about zombies,

sort of chew their emptiness

into something more kind and gentle,

and picture them as wounded baby animals

simply trying to make it home.

%d bloggers like this: