If, shambling past, they smash a porcelain bowl,
a marble faun, perhaps embed a shard
inside their putrid foot,it may be hard
to understand their sudden frenzied howl
is ecstasy not pain. They all love art
but not as we do. Their long drawn out screams
are gorgeous music. Sometimes in your dreams
you hear it and it terrifies your heart.
That's just a fragment of its dark effect
on their decayed and very different brains.
Eyes drop out, ears fall off, but there are gains
refined and subtle senses. They select
the finest brains to eat. For them a taste
so fine, that, in our skulls, it's just a waste.