brother, dearest, come right in!
but close the doors! do as I say
you might want to sit for this one
are you sat? dear, where do I begin …
usually I’d tell a story
about what’s happened in the past
but today that seems so boring
compared to what’s between us
no—not us, not like that
brother, I’m talking about him
him whom you cannot see
yet in him you do believe
dearest, it hurts much to speak
don’t you want our roles reversed?
I would not talk about Him
no, I hoped you’d understand
understand my feverish words
as I order alcohol
what’s the formula for ethanol anyway?
and the brandy—why does the floor sway?
oh, brother—
move not an inch!
brother, he is right behind you!
—what do you shrug your shoulders for?
get your hands off of my face!
you cannot see him, so you say
brother, he’s here, I’m not insane!
he talks, he rambles, on and on
hammers words into my head
what do you want from me, devil?—
I am not … I am … not … mad …
I don’t want to sit down, brother
I don’t need you to nurse me
for the snow in Siberia—
out here, devil! let me be!
he makes me wish for such cruel things
should swing my axe and murder him!
—brother, why have you gone pale?
a madhouse … what are you talking about?
—brother, hear me
hear my lament!
he torments me
don’t you know?
if you had just listened to me
it would appear clear as day—
I am him and he is me?
brother, such nonsense you say!
if the blood is on my hands—
bringing me to sense won’t help!
he, my demon, obstructs my sight
was it he committed patricide?
you say he’s a part of me
now his weight won’t let me breathe—
mark me with a cross, brother
it’s why I sought you, no one else!
—wait just a second, I broke my cup
waiter!
and you, brother, riddle me this
he asks why bother crossing oneself?
if one belongs in madhouse, in hell?
brother, why do you care about a man who—
fuck, this brandy is awful!
dose of morphine and my pain ceased
—devil, devil! go away!
brother, brother! just please stay …
he lures me to the frozen land
brother, are you even listening?—
I am not insane, my brother!
—brother, I am, for Christ’s sake!
YOU ARE READING
The Jackdaw and Other Poems
Poetryas one grows up one tends to forget how one felt a couple years ago I am the same amount of a novelist as I am a poet between my lines I captured my emotional growth and the battle cry that I am back from the dead
