THE HEX Every time I get... «The Complete Poems»
Contrary_Mary23 марта 2017THE HEX
Every time I get happy the Nana-hex comes through. Birds turn into plumber's tools, a sonnet turns into a dirty joke, a wind turns into a tracheotomy, a boat turns into a corpse, a ribbon turns into a noose, all for the Nana-song, sour notes calling out in her madness: You did it. You are the evil. I was thirteen, her awkward namesake, our eyes an identical green. There is no news in it except every time I say: I feel great or Life is marvelous or I just wrote a poem, the heartbeat, the numb hand, the eyes going black from the outer edges, the xylophone in the ears and the voice, the voice, the Nana-hex. My eyes stutter. I am blind.
Sitting on the stairs at thirteen, hands fixed over my ears, the Hitler-mouth psychiatrist climbing past me like an undertaker, and the old woman's shriek of fear: You did it. You are the evil. It was the day meant for me. Thirteen for your whole life, just the masks keep changing. Blood in my mouth, a fish flopping in my chest and doom stamping its little feet. You did it. You are the evil. She's long gone. She went out on the death train. But someone is in the shooting gallery biding her time. The dead take aim. I feel great! Life is marvelous! and yet bull's eye, the hex.
It's all a matter of history. Brandy is no solace. Librium only lies me down like a dead snow queen. Yes! I am still the criminal. Yes! Take me to the station house. But book my double.
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