Against Idleness and Mischief

     How doth the little Malkavian 
         Spread cracks along the mirror,
     And split himself anew, again
         In the face of mortal terror!

     How skillfully he pads his cell!
         (The one within his head.)
     And conceals the fact from himself
         That he's alive undead.

     In works of lunacy or senseless killing
         I would be busy too:
     For the busy hand is less willing
         To act as the fevered mind bids it to.

     In nightmares, or blood, or prophecies
         Let my final nights be past,
     That I may bury my memories
         In painless fugue at last.


     -Vis.
     (after Isaac Watts)
     (with a hatchett)
     (again)
<vis@jps.net>