the dark knight

parasite

master of mysterious ways

spins his webs of fantasy

to catch the unwary

in need of a life

beaten back by drudgery and strife.

 

He spins his website of glorious reds

and blacks enmeshed with golden threads

his shop of horrors suitably stocked

with ghastly images

on cards and memos,

dreadful diaries

names like seth on mugs of death.

 

      In her flat the widow waits

      for news of hideous mysterious fates.

      The dark knight has her telephone number

      and he has given his to her,

      but the world is silent and deafening

      her hackles rise

      her spirits stir.

 

Will her aura open up

if she hears his silken voice

or will he give the game away,

no longer to be the housewives' choice?