the history of melancholia
includes all of us.
me, I writhe in ***** sheets
while staring at blue walls
and nothing.
I have gotten so used to melancholia
that
I greet it like an old
friend.
I will now do 15 minutes of grieving
for the lost redhead,
I tell the gods.
I do it and feel quite bad
quite sad,
then I rise
CLEANSED
even though nothing
is solved.
that's what I get for kicking
religion in the ***.
I should have kicked the redhead
in the ***
where her brains and her bread and
butter are
at ...
but, no, I've felt sad
about everything:
the lost redhead was just another
smash in a lifelong
loss ...
I listen to drums on the radio now
and grin.
there is something wrong with me
besides
melancholia.

I SALUTED a nobody.
I saw him in a looking-glass.
He smiled-so did I.
He crumpled the skin on his forehead,
  frowning-so did I.
Everything I did he did.
I said, "Hello, I know you."
And I was a liar to say so.

Ah, this looking-glass man!
Liar, fool, dreamer, play-actor,
Soldier, dusty drinker of dust-
Ah! he will go with me
Down the dark stairway
When nobody else is looking,
When everybody else is gone.

He locks his elbow in mine,
I lose all-but not him.

I'm not quite sure
what is happening
and I'm not quite sure
what to do
all I know
is that you've got me writing love poems
and they happen to be
all about
you

The queer gods ruled the ancient world,
The ancient world was queer,
It was ancient when the queers ruled.

Now we are a whisper of the past,
Now we are a thread and gasp,

A rasp, of leaves on a summers day,
Whisked away.