circling buzzards
smelling the destroyed carnage
someone’s beloved
detectives arrive
important questions arise
telltale fingers
the prints are taken
medical examiner
a killer is loose
Her body temp is at ten degrees the coroner said.
He lifted my lifeless hand and I let if flop down by my head.
That tears it, I thought. I might actually be dead.
There is no sign of life or shake of her head?
Medical examiner felt a need to say, and thus said.
So they cut my chest open and out gushed some red.
I was glad they did not do that back on my bed.
I thought feeling nothing, rather amused now instead.
My puffy bloated stomach showed I had been overfed.
Proof is my treadmill with a totally unused tread.
I was lead to heaven by my big cousin Weird Zed.
A sour stinky old man who had never been wed.
He came to collect me on a double Moped.
Heaven had the most luxurious inviting bed.
For once in my afterlife I was glad to be dead.
Only sixty-eight, said my moronic cousin ‘Lil Jed.
I watched my funeral with my other deceased cousin Fred.
I enjoyed seeing my relatives do cartwheels on my bed.
Now they are arguing ‘bout who has to clean my shed.
Verifying one thing. I truly might be utterly dead.
“It did not look like suicide to me,” Lee, the novice detective said.
“It was suicide,” her partner stated firmly. “Open and shut case. Solved.”
The last seventeen cases he had solved were suicides.
“But she was stabbed in the back eight times,” Lee protested.
Her partner coughed loudly and indicated they should go outside to discuss it.
“How are four perfect x’s wounds in her back suicide?” she asked him.
“Have you ever thrown knives?” He asked her.
She shook her head ‘no’.
“She was a great knife thrower,” he said. “She just threw them up in the air and laid down.”
Lee stared at him. Was he serious?
“The ceiling was only nine foot high,” she argued.
She decided to speak to the medical examiner until she discovered that he and her partner were twins.
Eight days until retirement! He thought.
Eight days until I get another partner she thought.
Determined to re-open his last seventeen cases.
6/8/17
Coming in faster than speed racer
Heart colder than a glacier
Trying to duplicate the flavor
Another clout chaser
With or without a pace maker
And bracers
Soft as a wafer
Yet another copy cat
You're wrong for that
Going to one up you chumps, with or without a hockey mask
For ages I've been at the bottom, reaching for the top
More than a lot
Attempting to plot and stir up the pot
Whether the temperature cold or hot
Like it or not
They'll get caught
And put on the spot
Having to pay the cost
For such foolish talk
Regarding any parameters
Days and nights may or may have not been spectacular
I guess there's always been scavengers
And bandwagoners
As well as opposition and challengers
Whether or not their ambassadors
During any date on the calendar
It was either solved or obscure, by any medical examiner
Above and below any fields with or without lavender
You know they ruled your death an overdose. He shot you up in the breast. You were breast feeding the baby. No signs of heroin in her. No signs of heroin or any drugs in your apartment. You had just taken a shower and had laid out your clothes for work to get dressed. Your hair was still wet. You had ligature marks around your neck. You had been dead less than an hour. They said it was lividity. The medical examiner in Kentucky said that lividity doesn't set up that fast. Why? Why did they come to that conclusion, because he worked for the police department and was a confidential informant? Could that perhaps be the reason? You know it is....and my daughters murder gets no justice...what a travesty of justice!! Her Mom By the way she has a name Kymber Michelle Dye
Fickle Art and control Freaky
Don't play well together
Tolerance was not accepted
'Cause he wore pink shoes
Cross the street each day at the same intersection
Fickle Art and control freaky but the road was not
And never could be big enough for these to share
Time square and Big Ben don't speak the same lingo
Don't hold the same values to be sacred
Dust will blow and dust will go
Huff and puff, back to the dust
Medical examiner: What stopped his heart?
Lack of tidal volume, puffed too long
Collapsed a lung...Fire up the crematory
Is it dusty in here?
***Artist note: Ever get tired of the windbags can't let you live your life and them theirs? I sure do.