With yellow, red and roomy food, and quivered   Crouching on a golden cushion   Undressed himself to disappear   Through an infinity of pleasure   And smiled to free the running me   With "Am I my brother's keeper?"   His meek hand on devils gloves   Shaping running blood.      The prophecy, to recreate the truth   In visions of a seasonal mood   In truth, the only sight he saw   Lay hidden in the bathroom door   And spat on the rug   As high is high, so low is low   And that's the end of it.