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)