& Thus shall be the manner of your life
& Thus shall be the manner of your rites

The conchshell in the ear blows an old old song
how love begins to suddenly expire
How mind perceives, how Othello plots reveal
the blaze of love under the hooves of Centaurs
If in the desert of your means a skull
is spiked by a lance of love
It is, Madonna, greater love hates deeply
greater hate loves furiously!

(Lovers take their chances & keep the faith!)

Childhood, old age, ruptures & despair
are but the secret Moors of Mirrors
that mournfully mirror all—roses & Queen of Spades—

O Death to Love’s cultivators
though gardens never bleed!
O Life to Love’s executioners
though darkness never weeps!

The rule of passion, Madonna, is the rule of knife
murdering all—truth beauty virtue vice

(Lovers take their chances & keep the faith!)