BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN
Beati qui lugent
I worked my way through
Embalming College
As diener; although
‘Twas a privilege,
I’d oft ask my stars,
What wrong have I done
To suffer Karmic scars
Of life without funTo stack dead bodies
All through the night long,
Help with autopsies
To find what went wrong
Then help to bury
The doctors’ mistakes
So none will worry
At their Irish wakes
Telling stories from:
His cradle to the grave, from
Her womb to the tomb, from
His erection to the resurrection, from
Her cremation to reincarnation
And sending the cremains to India
To make instant people
And prove my thesis
Re: indestructibility of matter:
“The man ate the cream
Then the cream-ate the man.”
Ed lachman