Zombie Road

at dusk. Those poor little orphan's bodies.

scattered through the brush.
Like lost boys they stand together.
their tiny little silhouettes.
destines to haunt & be haunted.
what a Frightful sight that lonely highway is.

Edgar Allan Poetry.

Baltimore.

Like earth & old books.

he smells of dirt. musty pages.

And now I have Edgar Allan Poe

under my fingernails & in my

clothes, his dirt in my pocket.

Written in Baltimore, Maryland after taking some of Edgar's grave dirt.

Spontaneous Combustion

Flamboyant flames licked

the ceiling above her body.

colour abound

as her skin blackened.

Ashen from within.

In the postmortem picture

was only high heel.

partial leg. & char.

lots of charred,

unidentifiable remains.

When I was a kid I watched a special about "Spontaneous Human Combustion" on the Discovery channel. I couldn't sleep for weeks after. Terrified I was going to burst into flames at any moment. The biggest thing I remember about that show was this one picture.