insurrection is an art.

if you start a revolution, kill all the lawyers.
assault rifles,
mowing ‘em down,
trenchcoats and tracer rounds on the senate floor.

if you start a revolution, kill all the politicians,
.50 cal on the campaign trail,
hand grenades [revolutionaries, so well armed]
and the crowds are turning to face you.
(i’ll show you a platform, i’ve got one right here!
waving pistols pulled from pockets;
man, they’ll talk about gun control now).

if you start a revolution, kill all the leaders.
take down the cabinet,
oh it’s war now in the war room,
glass shattering –
you want blood i’ll fucking give you blood!
tell it how you think it is
no war but class war
screaming; pulling them by their silk ties.
wipe out the oval office in a shower of splinters,
portraits and white walls just bullet holes.

if you start a revolution, kill the bourgeoisie.
working man, here!
proletariat,
IRA,
Bolshevik,
anarchist,
Jacobin,
it’s fucking
Fight Club
all over again, bloody noses and all.



we’ll show you terror! shock and awe here we fucking come!

rondeau on a guard

is it done yet, the night?
where ghosts and fog on heights
which overlook seas that crash
and stars and moon that slash
through clouds like – lord in heaven – Light!

dawn is coming, but the darkest hour is too, tonight,
the hour that makes my fear seem bright,
which sprinkles dead man’s ash…

is it done?

shivering, watching, waiting for a blight
to come and slip me away, and tell no one of my plight,
and thunder, lightning flash,
and slice away the quietness, a gash
of heavenly unholiness, and I will never give up this fight.

is it done?