Contre le Monde, Contre la Vie 'What may this fluorescent pageant mean? Who can the evanescent object glean? He that is dead is the key of Life— Gone is the symbol, deep is the grave!' To those of us for whom Sight has meant seeing abysses The waking world has been an insult Our instinct has always been To turn inward and turn away From the life of the polis Turn inward To horrors more gloriously vibrant Beyond vistas of fabrication Where wars of psyche and shadow Devour and deform and give birth There, under our own raging skies The breath of Moloch torn away We were free and wild as the ancients We have been the shadows of this age Our dreams crawled like pioneer weeds On the trail of new death 'Man is a breath, and Life is the fire; Wrest from the aeons the heart of gold! Tear from the fabric the threads that are old!'