Anyhow you had to perish Hamlet you were not for life
you believed in crystal notions not in human clay
always twitching as if asleep you hunted chimeras
wolfishly you crunched the air only to vomit
you knew no human thing you did not know even how to breathe
He is an utter failure as a devil. Even his tail. Not long and fleshy with a black brush of hair at the end, but short, fluffy, and sticking out comically like a rabbit’s. His skin is pink, only under his left shoulder-blade a mark the size of a gold ducat. But his horns are the worst. They don’t grow outward like other devils’ but inward, into the brain. That’s why he suffers so often from headaches.
He is sad. He sleeps for days on end. Neither good nor evil attract him. When he walks down the street, you see distinctly the motion of the rosy wings of his lungs.