the zombie painter flamboyantly
shambles back to the gallery
to slaughter all the critics with his new show —
it’s a mixed media piece, in pieces,
splattering walls with their brains and licking
yellow clumps off the red speckled canvas
with the flattened horror of his green tongue
which smears with all the flair of a brush.
If they all weren’t so creatively rendered
they might have called him something
of a post-postmodern Pollock —
but no matter,
he’s no longer a starving artist
and he hasn’t a care for their taste
