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.
 

 Fall, 1953

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