A Poem For The Walker Who Looks Like Nick Cave

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Another season has passed.
Minor, and major, characters have met their grisly ends,
and your kind has supped on the marrow
of human frailty.

But whither to, Nick Cave Walker?
I miss you, o walker that looks like Nick Cave.

But for Bicycle Girl, you were the iconic one,
the one for which there was no Darabont-penned backstory
(although you have been immortalized – re-immortalized? – as an action figure).

You haunt my dreams, Nick Cave Walker.

Are you still lurching about Atlanta?
Were you part of the herd that stormed Hershel’s farm?
Where have you gone, Nick Cave Walker?

I long to see you gripping the chain link fence
surrounding the prison in which our heroes – your lunch – will
seek refuge come October, your hair just
a tad greasier, your sportscoat just
a tad more
jauntily askew.

Nick Cave Walker – I have left you supplies by the abandoned
Chevy Nova on the interstate.
A new tie.
A copy of the Nocturama LP.
My heart.

On the windshield there is a message:
Nick Cave Walker wait for me here.

I am yours, Nick Cave Walker. Nomnomnom.