Last night I met a passive man
With almost no curve to his face,
And skin relentlessly white.
He made me tell his fortune
With a pack of cards.
'Jack of hearts- your love will be
A scullion overturning trays of food
And standing dubiously in their midst.'
'Queen of diamonds- you will have a wife
Like a thistle dipped in frost,
Helpless in your sheathed hands.'
'Deuce of clubs- a downcast jester
Will pester you with slanting malice
When you seek to play the king.'
'Ace of hearts- your life will stand
Straight in a desperate majesty,
Its lurid robes ever slipping
And one wound endlessly dripping.'

The passive man blew out a candle
On the table and bade me leave,
Not desiring me to see his face.