Fragment

I know you love it when I don't tell you where things go and what they pertain to. That's why I do it so often.

Would I strike him down if all things
which had occurred played out again?
I cannot know, and yet my dreams
resound with yes, yes, yes, pounding
upon my breaking walls. The throb
of aches held in my skull reduce
me pulse to pulse. I falter, and
memory, fragmented, bitter,
fills all my cracks with crunch of bone
and weight of death. Rotting brother's-
flesh, clinging mud, the stains of blood, oh!
Still I see it, red as red, but
never recall his face or eyes.

Oh, to be mute and deaf and blind!
To have crooked limbs, a dim mind!
To love my brother, be at peace
when God and father love him best;
to shield my mother, innocent
of all but suffering, from cruelties
of my making. To prove my worth
as first son, first lover of earth;
to hold more than murderous rage!
This clay vessel that you shaped
wants substance, wants more than most men
know they lack. My shape is human,
but my face is a rounded slab.
My eyes are beads, my mouth is black.
Your thumbprint lingers on my cheek
where last we touched. Toolmarks scar me,
but time erases all mistakes,
like all craftsmen not in haste.

Oh, curse my name, and let me die!