dirge: song of the last night

to be sung solemnly, & a little bit drunkenly

held a wake for transience to-day: clear glass coffin, a castle devoted to memory. the faithful, though, refuse the invitation to sentiment & the looping redundancy of parallelism. (it's all mopey bullshit, anyway.) in the face of the wayside we turn to other harvests that will return seedhusks in abundance - raise a glass to dissonance -

remembering the thing we've missed, suddenly: all of this a pathetic eulogy for a small perfect thing, a flash of uniform light whose ignorance of us was the quickening force of our attention.