Here you will find the Poem To a downfallen rose of poet Gregory Corso
When I laid aside the verses of Mimnermus, I lived a life of canned heat and raw hands, alone, not far from my body did I wander, walked with a hope of a sudden dreamy forest of gold. O rose, downfallen, bend your huge vegetic back; eye down the imposter sun...in winter dream sulk your rosefamed head into the bile of golden giant, ah, rose, augment the rose further still! whence upon that self-created dive in Eden you blossomed where the Watchmaker of Nothingness lulled, your birth did cause bits of smashed night to pop, causing my dreamy forest to unfold. Yes, and the Watchmaker, his wheely-flesh and jewelled-bones spoiled as he awoke, and in the face of your Somethingness, he fled waving oblivious monks in his unwinded hands. The sun cannot see upheaved spatics, the tennis of Venus and the court of Mars sing the big lie of the sun, ah, faraway ball of fur, sponge up the elements; make clear the trees and the mountains of the earth, arise and turn away from the vast fixedness. Rose! Rose! my tinhorneared rose! Rose is my visionic eyehand of all Mysticdom Rose is my wise chair of bombed houses Rose is my patient electric eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes, Rose is my festive jowl, Dali Lama Grand Vicar Glorious Caesar rose! When I hear the rose scream I gather all the failure experiments of an anatomical empire and, with some chemical dream, discover the hateful law of the earth and sun, and the screaming rose between.