Satan, source of these longings, set me free
From orange sunshine, hell dust, ecstasy.
But no, don’t do that . . . give me more, my friend,
Paradise white and peace at rainbow’s end.
And let me as I lunch with Aunt Despair,
Have time to blow a stick or cork the air;
And on the razor’s edge, pushed on by pain,
Score with the golden girl or do Elaine.
O you who mock these words but never knew
Sweet Jesus or the Beast, I envy you—
And if, at wit’s end, you should ask me what
My message is, I’d answer THOU SHALT NOT.
Don’t ask me why I’m laughing sweet and low.
I’m Lucy in the sky with diamonds now.