they say that I was dark,
that I had a flare for drama,
now papa, he was a piece of work
drunken brutality unrivaled anywhere
one evening the serfs poured
vodka down his miserable throat
til he stopped breathing,
no one cried for him
my life wasn't that bad
even that trumped up rap
that arrest for subversion
against Tsar Nicholas,
even the silent treatment
they laid on me, those guards
so light on their feet
in their velvet-soled boots
and there I was standing there
my blindfold in place, the firing squad
poised, when an eleventh hour call
stayed my execution, and even
Siberia, my epilepsy,
my ten long years in chains,
I can't say that I can complain
The Idiot
Crime and Punishment
The Possessed
The Brothers Karamazov
they all cam from
the first hand knowledge
of my research
Fyodor
- Lightning Rod
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