How do you fight this monster?
Three years into the new century,
you pick up a handful of stones from the street.
You secrete boxcutters and wires.
A penknife lies warm in your hand.
You wake up in the morning, eat breakfast,
go out of the house and explode.
The generals have an inexhaustible arsenal
of names: ‘imperialist villains . . .
criminals . . . cowards . . . idiots . . .’
Sticks, stones and names.
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