"Caedite eos. Novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius."
Always at the daunting beginning of something
you can see these hot-red formations
feel their new positions
close to the heart.
The Song of the Cathar Wars:
'bels chanz, mala crozada':
too many brains and jawbones
on blood-soaked fields.
Too many noble ladies thrown into the fire
or down a well.
Too many kitchenboys and mercenaries
entitled to pillage and rape,
too many meetings
with bishops and abbots and legates
that drag on forever!
And the many siege engines groaning
mangonels, cats and bitches;
to say nothing of the Weasel.
But it was fun to watch Simon de Montfort
coming unglued
at the siege of Toulouse:
his speeches are increasingly insane
and so thick with flourishes that it's a mercy
when he is finally brained
by a little stone
launched from within.
That was a stone
right close to the heart.
