translated by John Taylor 

In a strange dream, numbers replaced my words.
Not knowing how to express truth by equations, I preferred to use down-to-earth
notions that would not wound sidereal cogitations.
The friends of planets got angry, vipers spit their venom at me, axioms of superb
minds continued to flee from orifices.
“We are alone, dear Cor(ruption),” whispered my companion into my ear.
I observed him. He was very tall, dark green in color, and ashy sparkles flowed for
miles from the pupils of his eyes.
“Girl of the Compassions,” I corrected. “Girl of the Compassions who seeks love in
pieces of fruit.”

  Agria Angeliki Photia (Wild Seraphic Fire), Agra Publications, Athens 1997