Spoken Word - Three Brothers

A Spoken Word piece I improvised on-the-spot when somebody (as prank vengeance for doing the same to her) signed me up for Bean Night.
I don’t know if they were born from the same. Or if they were born at all. That’s the thing. We never loved each other because of biology, or society. I don’t think we ever loved.
The oldest breathed water and wouldn’t stay in the sea. Sprinting across the land, across the crags, he lived from puddle to puddle. Why drag down to such desperation, to arbitrary survival/ But I think he was lonely.
The second found cadavers in hostels and hotel lobbies and post offices. They walked and talked and kissed but they were dead. Second gave them pieces of his soul so they could glow too. But soul isn’t like sunlight. Pretty soon I found him in a boxing alley, and he was dead too.
Third lived in a cloud. He fished for people and when he caught them he would reel them up and eat them. Little stink pieces of heart and blood dripped off his cloud, so no one would go near its shadows. Third would wait for the wind to blow and he’d put up his sail. I would have liked Third, maybe. At least he knew that there are worse things than being lonely.
Fourth lived by an ugly statue, a monument toppled, a humpty dumpty god. At night he would burn his hands. In the morning he would scaffold the creature, and with Third-World tools piece together its debris. Noon, he would write poetry on its corpse. When the Fourth died, there were no children to complete his work. But dying isn’t always disappearing.
These were my brothers. They speak to me and they make me want to do terrible things.