isn't just trolling us;
perhaps, like an
overtaxed capitalist or
reformed absent father,
it's touring us
by the millions,
desperate to find
the consummate
picturebook vacation home—
a respite from the cold
of its walking-
dead existence,
a substitute
for the warm hearth
(pathetic as that is).
And perhaps,
minute after minute,
its zombie hopes
are dashed afresh,
as it checks in
to another one,
kicks off its shoes
in a bid to relax,
and takes a blithe
look around—
only to find
it's got nothing
but clones
of itself to spend
time with.
