Interregnum

Butcher the evil millionaire, peasant,

And leave him stinking in the square.

Torture the chancellor.

Leave the

Strung by his thumbs from the

Embassy wall, where the vines were.

Then drill your hogs and sons for another war.

Fire on the screaming crowd, ambassador,

Sick chancellor, brave millionaire,

And name them by the name that is your name.

Give privilege to the wound, and

The last resister.

Poison the

And mew for peace, for order, and for war.

View with alarm, participant, observer,

Buried in medals from the time before.

Whisper, then believe and serve and

And drape fresh bunting on the

From here to India.

This is the world you

When the wind blows fresh for war.

Hide in the dark alone, objector;

Ask a grenade what you are living for,

Or drink this knowledge from the mud.

To an abyss more terrible than

Descend and tunnel toward a

Away from anything that moves with blood.