#Melancholia

 

you’re sad again & everyone can tell. 
sadness hath been visited upon your face. 

dumb face can’t even keep itself to itself. 
your mouth a weird brand of suffering 

when sadness comes to your doorstep
he brings a newspaper cone of dead

rhododendrons, he’s already eaten
the bloom. you put them

in porcelain anyways, invite him in. 
when he’s all moved inside you 

let the world know. you say, i am sad, 
to anyone inquiring into the time 

or directions to the subway. you say,
i am sad, it’s not so much 

a weight as a series of levers pulling
the meat around. not so much a place

as the edge of map slowly being eaten
by flames. your therapist doesn’t want you 

to start from the beginning again. instead
focus on manageable steps. from here to 

the refrigerator, from there to your flight out
of town. best have some lambs blood spread 

across the front door so the next time
sadness comes, he’ll pass over your house 

& into your neighbor’s son. you in your
wedding dress weeping on the front stoop,

ass peaking out below that white storm cloud. 
or maybe it’s time for the pills. chemicals 

your brain’s been aching for since learning
of their existence, a boy you fell in love with 

on television & stalked online until he grew
drugged out into a thin line then dead. 

no one carries the already drowned out
of the river unless they cared for the body 

while it lived. i’m standing at the edge
of the river & naming all the garbage 

floating past, my sadness. the bodies, 
the bodies, my sadness. the boats 

& the bloated animals & the broken in
houses, mine.