Storming the palace,
you forget which hand
the torch is in, where
you tucked your gun,
where you keep the bullets,
and when the czar doesn’t resist
whose blood will you shed
(hint: start with the blood
of those in whose name
you revolt), and whose statue
is erected when all the others topple?
What will you build now
that you’ve lit the wick
of your own philosophy’s
dynamite?
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