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Nocturnes: In Whitechapel, At A Tavern
You need not fear that I will ever tell
your secret to the world; for we are . . . (well . . .
if you take to my meaning) . . . much the same;
a similar intention, means, and aim
we share. The world will tremble at our rages:
and, predatory, we will mark the ages.
Your glass is empty: let me buy another
for you. These whores, in cheap pastels and mauves
(in Whitechapel, that is the latest fashion)
are useless, with no right to be alive,
because each has brought suffering to some life.
But you, with firm intention and a knife,
deftly and stealthily dispatched some five
of them. I think Marxist philosophy,
along with the right time in History
(when certain signs appear) will bring to me
the same, exciting opportunity
to execute vengeance, for my dead brother,
upon them I hate with consuming passion---
those careless, undeserving Romanovs.
I will be ruthless, as befits such slaughters:
even upon their helpless son and daughters.
I will destroy the whole damned family
To this end, I will lead a revolution.
And if it brings to Russia, the solution
to many problems (like the peasantries'
lack of land, and the many factories'
dreadful conditions and atrocities);
if it will change Russia's economy,
that will be, only secondarily,
my purpose and achievement. Destiny---
my co-conspirator---will grant to me
that satisfaction and satiety
to be enjoyed in gloating privacy,
while called "Genius" and "Savior" publicly.
