literature mortuary sciences poetry psychology sociology thanatology writing

softened fruit

once you’ve been a mortician

you never stop thinking

or dreaming

like one


beyond exposure

to the harshest chemicals

in existence

it is the psychological blitzkrieg

that is the true

occupational hazard


i am plagued by dreams

of having to embalm

my dead since i was 6 father

his features i set perfectly

but his hands won’t take the fluid

they are a sick yellowish color

with blackened fingernails

the fingers spread apart



death is always

grasping coldly toward us


as for the rest of humanity

my eyes see them

as softened fruit

about to spoil


each day

has become a discipline

in attempting

not to think

this way


as i find life

in all its pain and glory

to be worthwhile

and of

unfathomable beauty



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