lundi 25 novembre 2013

An asphodel - Allen Ginsberg | Howl

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.


                                                                     (Earlier Poems)