(To George Fasnacht)
Whatever path I walk upon
That path itself is Avalon.
Whatever woman talks to me,
Venus' foamy self is she.
The floors of factories are made
Of jasper, porphyry and jade.
All that I drink, all food I eat,
Is my Lord's blood and body sweet.
But if a moth should singe his wings,
The world is black with dismal things.
And if a strangled sparrow fall,
There is not any God at all.
And if a baby moan for food,
My eyes blaze red with rage for blood.