I Strolled Through a Moscow Abloom in Spring…

I strolled through a Moscow abloom in spring
And behind me two figures came following
As if they thought I’d done something wrong;
I myself knew what I’d done all along,
which is why I remained so at ease,
why I wandered so very at peace:
twelve counts of arson and, in addition,
five murders of the mighty and their minions.
the fire and bile of my ill will,
it will yet burn many of their ilk
but the morons will go round up more
illegals, the unbalanced, the poor,
the kind they’re accustomed to taking away,
so that I, of course, will get to stay,
a proud delegate of the majority, who
may again see his native Moscow in bloom.

Day of Rage

We’re casing a site for an operation
in support of the Day of Rage in Egypt
here, breaking the quiet of the alley,
a score or a hundred comrades will pass by
today Cairo, tomorrow—Moscow
rights aren’t given, rights are taken
here the banner unfurls, and there
the embassy security is all in a tizzy
here — red smoke from the flares,
a cop car will be rolling by…

we checked it all out, twice we passed
the policeman in his sentry-box…
when we dispersed in the half gloom of side-streets
I noted this image:
against the background of a bright azure sky
a white cloud
that almost seemed to blanket
a black winter tree,
but my rage was not then enough for me to meld with the scene
to become one with it.