An Asphodel

O dear sweet rosy

    unattainable desire

…how sad, no way

    to change the mad

cultivated asphodel, the

    visible reality…

and skin's appalling

    petals—how inspired

to be so Iying in the living

    room drunk naked

and dreaming, in the absence

    of electricity…

over and over eating the low root

    of the asphodel,

gray fate…

    rolling in generation

on the flowery couch

    as on a bank in Arden—

my only rose tonite's the treat

    of my own nudity.