though there are hands and feet, there are no bodies—
this is why they are frightening!
behind is only emptiness.
a bottle, gesture and wave, and forefingers
point for a tiny clown to dance
upon: O monstrous! monstrous masks
and drunk, most likely, waiting in a heap
in the cold attic for Monsieur
Ensor to vivify so they can
with a cruel candor to what existence
is when it is not life” —look they
are everywhere, more than ever!