Madness

 Madness

O weeping muse                        

you make me fall

into a thick misty river;

the tundra where my poems gather.

…Madness enters with the wind;

the jolt of a wild animal

thrashing from a spasm,

his eyes seek mine.

O my first dead,

which winter squall

carries my disordered pages,

the shroud of tears we will inhabit,

the grave where all spit

their epitaphs?