Have I followed the rules
to be human,
artful enough, skilled
to walk roads on water,
smell the ether?
Have I
detonated a bomb
meant to kill me and the rest,
stored explosives
in rooms for the next revolution,
wept for people flayed alive?
Mourned enough in polka-dotted shirts or cars?
In streets lined with hyenas
mocking revolution — of
zoos in action.
