The tagger and the terrorist are clones,
Spawn of the self-same primal need: Fear me!
See me! Listen! I will never lie prone
Beneath your abasing heel! Your cheery
World I find anathema! The lurid
Marks I leave, the lethal vests I wear serve
To cut minds free, foment distress, and cure
Complacency—leave pompous ease unnerved.
So what are you gonna do about it?
Impotently stamp your feet? Hurl rage? Kill
Us all? Bury us in some black abyss?
But Hydra can’t be killed, will not be still!
Try something new. The salt tears, glistening,
Will dry if you would but see, hear, listen.
(10/25/07)