praise the skull that becomes a bowl of soup praise two black eyes and a gored out nose praise the quiet piano keys of the mouth the mandible and empty moan praise the spine that refuses to curl praise the body, too brittle to hold praise the mottled skin, ragged and draped from ribs praise the quilt that hides beneath skin praise tendons; praise muscle fiber human roots that nourish seeds praise dark insects sheltered by soil centipedes and sow bugs worms willing to eat doubt and grief praise quarantine and her safe distance death’s silent screaming intimacy inside the chest praise the cemetery within each person the Reaper that will not be outrun watching through a canopy of bats praise the grave’s open hand praise the spider’s web; praise holding in praise embalming’s infinite hangover praise bone; praise marrow praise the spinneret's chrome shield praise the Reaper who does not look away praise the Reaper who completes every hunt praise legs homeless and stumbling praise the dead willing to stand
... Originally appeared in Zombies for a Cure, a zombie-themed publication to raise money for cancer research.