he madman drinks
from a silver cup
wrought from a skull
bright dipped.
He sips from wine
laced with blood,
and his thoughts are
mad thoughts.
He braids his
moonlight hair
with the charms
of his youth –
Cat’s Cradle tangles
framing the worn map
of his ancient visage.
Behind the shutters
of his ghost-pale eyes
breed monsters and
maniacs.
And the results come
knocking...