On Diverse Deviations

When love is a shimmering curtain Before a door of chance That leads to a world in question Wherein the macabrous dance Of bones that rattle in silence Of blinded eyes and rolls Of thick lips thin, denying A thousand powdered moles, Where touch to touch is feel And life a weary whore I would be carried off, not gently To a shore, Where love is the scream of anguish And no curtain drapes the door.