In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blowBetween the crosses, row on rowThat mark our place; and in the skyThe larks, still bravely singing, flyScarce heard amid the guns below.We are the Dead. Short days agoWe lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,Loved and were loved, and now we lieIn Flanders fields.Take up our quarrel with the foe:To you from failing hands we throwThe torch; be yours to hold it high.If ye break faith with us who dieWe shall not sleep, though poppies growIn Flanders fields.

John McCrae, 1915

Stable of the Old Medicine Vial

There’s an old joke told around the forensics community that goes like this, “What is the difference between two completely different bones? The skin that was wrapped around it before I got a hold of it.” While it ma be legal for a forensic scientist to cannibalize the truth of a body in evidence it however illegal for the victim to protest from the grave to the photographs taken in decomposition. If a picture is worth a thousand words then imagine the conversation over your body in the morgue. Poetry is non-conformity when approached by the incestuous lengths the business of medicine will go to utilize the corpse in their own manner.
Another old joke is from a funeral home. The director of the funeral home approaches a grief stricken man and informs him that the burial of his wife will cost about seven thousand dollars or fifty bucks if the staff of the funeral home can have sex with the man’s wife. Salt into the wound take the guise of coins.
Appearing at the end of a barrel is the bullet fired in anger. The body reacts by tearing away. The mind is conditioned to react to the environment of healing. What happens in-between is anybody’s guess.