Paradise is full of zombies

Paradise is full of zombies

Reacting to the smell

Of death

Wobbly chins

Staggering under the weight

Of life.

Ducking in and out

Of daylight

Drinking in the news

Swapping stale mornings

For breakfast.

Hiding in shadows

With curtains tightly drawn

Against encroachment

Watching television evangelists

And martial arts,

Slapping the monkey

Is an art form.

Breaking wind in bed

Pulling the covers over their head

Laughing at their own stupidity

Dying on the inside.

More dead

Than the drunk

As a skunk

On the bench in the park

Fighting with demons

And blind faith

Every time he closes his eyes.

The family saloon

Flashes its lights

At the kerbside

Broken promises

Float in the air

Above the heads of deceivers.

Bloated Blowflies

Fight like cats and dogs

To be first sworn

Fresh blood is a treasure chest

Of gory stories.

And the dead walk

In daydreams

Palid skin slowly falling away

The folds of it flap

Down to the ground

The leech of them

Pools at their feet.

And the old drunk

As a skunk

On a bench in the park

Watches the world go by.

As the lights go down

On Broad Street

There is a narrow divide

With nothing to choose

Between the living

And the waking

Of the dead.