An excerpt from DIRGE, an unfinished draft

“We see too many ‘noble deaths’; we see the degradation – the epic little charges of cavalry. And thus for this our spirit becomes low, tough like a boar, unbreakable – we die to the sound of the trumpet, as surely as the bees pollinate, the ants build; as surely as the storms swaling low over the South China port and into the brothels, where the women stood up in smoke; all of life is lived in moments, and each one dies in return; who is to say that our death is anything but another regular link? The trumpet stops as the musician’s throat is pierced by an arrow.” — Casimir Hieronym, 2006

One Response to “An excerpt from DIRGE, an unfinished draft”

  1. sufferingzen Says:

    The unfinished poet.