He is
smitten it his prime
and bitten by bitterness;
the blame
must be laid on a doorstep, 
someone’s, it doesn’t matter whose — 
there is nothing he can do,
shivering as he is like a leaf,
being more than bitter. He is
paranoid as well.

Also, his eyes see stranger things
than those of you and I:
he knows more about our madnesses 
than we realize. A theatrical wave
of his hand can absolve sinners
and give extreme unction to the dead.

It is madness.
Remember, his hole-in-the-head heart 
is as disastrous as a cooling sun;
he is dangerous when he tells you
he is not. He is mad.