Reading is FUNdamental!*
Don't be afraid to expand your reading horizons...
1
The day she visited the dissecting room, They had four men laid out, b lack as burnt turkey, Already half unstrung. A vinegary fume of the death vats clung to them; The white smocked boys started working. The head of his cadaver caved in, And she could scarcely make out anything In that rubble of skull plates and old leather. A sallow piece of string held it together.
In their jars the snail-nosed babies moon and glow. He hands her the cut-out heart like a cracked heirloom.
2
In Brueghel's panorama of smoke and slaughter Two people only are blind to the carrion army: He, afloat in the sea of her blue satin Skirts, sings in the direction of her bare shoulder, while she bends, Fingering a leaflet of music over him, Both of them deaf to the fiddle in his hands Of death's-head shadowing their song. The Flemish lovers flourish not for long.
Yet desolation, stalled in paint, spares the little country Foolish, delicate, in the lower right-hand corner.