I was flying over Sydney in a giant zombie.

(it's fun to take zombies

& stay up all night)

                            Sydney zombies

are white and angry-tongued, but

I am still

the black zombie of trespass on alien waters.

Things looked bad.
Your zombie calls, and you answer it: your

lank zombie, dank zombie,

chafe in its crotch and sores in its hair.

(it's important to be zombie

but not to be
 too cute about it.) Together

we eat

bread & stewed zombie –

It's surprisingly easy to cook a zombie now.

I can iron shirts too.
My zombie lives in a house where nobody has ever died.

To the wind it says, ‘They have eaten me alive.’
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