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 lying 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.