men of stoutened miens

his hands were what frightened me

thick fingers mottled like raw sausages

and cold like the marble on a tomb

regardless of his learned mind and words

i shuddered internally at his gestures

casual waves that displayed palsied limbs

look at his eyes — look for his soul

intelligent blue orbs and poetic words

could not undo the nightmares that

hung on the ends of his arms