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Nocturnes: Corner Table Of Some Pub In London
I once thought I conceived this century.
But now I read of one greater than me,
whose locomotive plows through History.
And I admire him most unworthily.
I have to hand it to your Comrade Lenin:
he certainly stands high among most men in
his sole ambition. Mastership of terrors---
as in his heinous murder of the Czar
(and those four girls, and his whole family's
servants)---will help him wipe out any errors
of opposition, and his enemies.
No circumstance or obstacle will bar
his way. When his new flag has been unfurled
(red as a slut's lips, or a fresh-plucked apple),
the glow of its relentless, crimson light
will bathe a multitude of readied knives
(that is, I think, the sharpest metaphor).
His slogan will be "Victims of the world,"
(the unremarkable weak ones), "unite:
"You have, left, nothing to lose, but your lives."
So I learned in the shadows of Whitechapel:
most people are as worthless as a whore.
