The poem
I look at the swaling sunset And wish I could go also Through the red doors beyond the black-purple bar.
I wish that I could go Through the red doors where I could put off My shame like shoes in the porch, My pain like garments, And leave my flesh discarded lying Like luggage of some departed traveller Gone one knows not where.
Then I would turn round, And seeing my cast-off body lying like lumber, I would laugh with joy.