Zombocom

[Brownlie]

We have arrived at someplace new,
where the chaff-husk men, like us, receive potential anima.
Welcome to Zombocom,
says the Haitian ghost as we create him by the din
of elevator music, belonging in a mall.
We stare, transfixed, at circulating expectation
as an ethereal discus rotates on the screen,
and we are either unaware
or perfectly contented with the idea
 that we are drinking light.
He tells us This is Zombocom,
and once again he welcomes all the new arrivals
telling us that anything is possible in his domain.
He seems the idiom of life-in-death, or at least a part of that idea.
Yet, here there was no casting dice.
Here, we are the harbingers of our own fate;
the worshipers of wind and rain in play.
He tells us that the infinite is possible and that the only limit is yourself,
and there is climax to this Stentor as he orates towards a worlds end
and then replays in constant loop
through a thousand screens at once.