Granite-Spiked, Dillyweed Weaved Crown

In my dreams, in which all stirs;

There is this great defeat,

Momentum of circumstance in which

The peeled decay

Of altruism

Reveals

Nasty

Bits,

That sworn honey for

All-timely fact-of-matter,

In the way,

Of all existence, that reports to some prodding matter,

As if turbulence was deemed otherwise,

Upon treachery

Towards

Hope of the blossom

Carnation-Rose crown

And I too instead,

Chose

Ivy.