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An Asphodel

 O dear sweet rosy 
 unattainable desire 
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how sad, no way to change the mad cultivated asphodel, the visible reality.
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and skin's appalling petals--how inspired to be so Iying in the living room drunk naked and dreaming, in the absence of electricity.
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over and over eating the low root of the asphodel, gray fate.
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rolling in generation on the flowery couch as on a bank in Arden-- my only rose tonite's the treat of my own nudity.
Fall, 1953

by Allen Ginsberg
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