I pick up the skirt,
I pick up the sparkling beads
in black,
this thing that moved once
around flesh,

she was hot, she was so hot
I didn’t want anybody else to have
and if I didn’t get home on time
she’d be gone, and I couldn’t bear
I’d go mad. . .

don’t undress my love
you might find a mannequin:
don’t undress the mannequin
you might find
my love.

the hearse comes through the room
the beheaded, the disappeared, the
mad.
the flies are a glue of sticky pas
their wings will not

225 days under grass
and you know more than I.
they have long taken your blood,
you are a dry stick in a basket.
is this how it works?

each man must realize
that it can all disappear very
quickly:
the cat, the woman, the job,
the front tire,

the history of melancholia
includes all of us.
me, I writhe in dirty sheets
while staring at blue walls
and nothing.

she reads to me from the New York
which I don’t buy, don’t know
how they get in here, but it’s
something about the Mafia
one of the heads of the Mafia

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won’t flinch and

when God created love he didn’t he
when God created dogs He didn’t h
when God created plants that was a
when God created hate we had a sta
when God created me He created me