A poem by Sam Donsky from the sequence, Poems vs the Volcano

Melancholia

We married in the minor
ways. Flowers in the petal
position, bodies on
the floor: not affection
just its magnitude;
not the beercans but
the breaths they woke.
Modern Sweden,
planet soup: blonde
haired landscapes long
of leash. One might
imagine these vows
as after-parties
of process: rights of
brains left for dead,
each bummer swung
like a pendulum —
promises shot through
some orifice or ripened
with loss. We dumbed
death down like a child;
put good shampoo
in its hair. Until
Dunst do us part.
& then we hung out
in peace.