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Know you him?

Care you now for the weight of sin

Of others?

Disembodied, disencumbered,

What nonsense the cares of men.

Beheld, but not beholden,

Ask your silent questions with

Your chalky grin,

And ignore the fancies of

The mad man who would be King.

But alas dead Yoric,

All of you is reduced

To this one crepuscular prop,

For another’s indulgent soliloquy.

You are known to me

but remain unknowable,

Merely the straight-man to

Hamlet’s vainglorious farce.

Portrayed white-bone hard,

A skull of a man made

Bare of flesh

By the pen of a bard

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