Thursday, June 7, 2018
The Working Dead
Were they dead, or indifferently dozing?
These much-dreaded big stiffs, so imposing
They've strayed from their graves
And been made into slaves
Now they headily whiff, decomposing.
The dead rise up--right up into the nostrils.
The Plague of the Zombies
(John Gilling; 1966)
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