Untitled (Towards the stony fields again)

Towards the stony fields again
I turn my eyes
For there are the huge black men
And she of the sweaty thighs.

Night is a century long
A starless terror
There I can forget the trailing song
And Beauty's false skyey mirror.

I will be old as hate
And yet never old
I swing wide the mossy gate
And let in the Stygian fold.