But she’d sunk back on a leather bench, left the assault to their guide’s officious requests
he light changed and released them across Broadway and down Wall in disheveled Indian file staggered seriatim
Undismayed by lack of piano accompaniment, or now the peremptory rattle of the baton, this baying augmented as the apparition drew up at the footlights for breath.
I don’t know whether today is February 2nd or 3rd. It might be the 4th, or even the 5th or 6th. But it’s all the same to me. This is our threnody.
“Tell us what an epicede is,” said Belano without turning around. “It’s an elegy, recited in the presence of the dead,” I said. “Not to be confused with the threnody. The epicede took the form of a choral dialogue. The meter used was the dactylo-epitrite, and later elegiac verse.”
