ACHILLES' SONG Barton Kunstler here is your true Hector a drained and bloody bag hare-like in a dog's teeth shaken till no bone remains in place, no reminder of a warrior's strength you would not believe this arm ever raised a spear this splintered face beloved . . . behold death and all that he was is known a lie this is all to which any of us may aspire even I, dragging this worthless rag thrice around the walls erasing the magic circle of a city's birth this monotonous mutilation demands you contemplate your end in his.   BACK