Naked Zombie and the Telephone

I want to jump through my skin from the pages of print and have intercourse with you my mind is off on an even keel the unfolding of hands at the diner at noon the slippery spoon you want to impeach Trump but then who is left a life of no regrets Margaret Thatcher and the spinning wheel beggars with no big deal the thousand loosened horse men in the street only the phantom should preach to neck behind the microphone the naked zombie & the telephone alone with hands searching for its ***** art has changed the notion of thought a zombie soul can't ever be bought with hands to hold upon the nucleus The phamtom is living under my bed it comes to me in a dream at night to fright picks up my soul and carries it across the room draws strength from the conclaves of darkness with a pitchfork in hand eager to understand the remedy of suspicion a soul in derision