After the Revolution

Jack was no respecter of persons,
Jill none of ideas.
(Time for philosophy—or just policing?).
Advancing with the prudent haltingness of Mandarins,
eagerly buying and selling that perfect, stultifying tranquility
of well-wrought ankle bracelets of the mind.
Since barricades can only constipate the hermit’s progress,
who needs a Bastille when the guillotine suffices?
Watch yourself, you can manage,
while I, guiltless and guileless, redeem my Identity Points of traumatic oppression;Gimme freedom, justice, and love or at least the respect that I was, damn it, always due.
What is the sound of one victim crying like a newborn?
Liberation has its price; your turn to pay.
Of course you are in the wrong; we all are, except that, here, now….
I mean, surely you don’t think you are above it all?
Everybody goes down. All is seen clearly, here, face to face.
Outside the world we observe and judge, there is only the poison-free pure and virginal mind, and the hell all of those affected. Certainly, then,
as what is nowhere is everywhere,
I have only to reiterate, in declaring, as I do now:
Outside the State there is no freedom. 

But (yet of course this is all wrong):
Faith and hope, which are are given to us outside all policing (that is the hope),
Direct their gaze to that true beloved of every hermetic soul,
For a thought in quest of an object: Art.
(sole remnant name of God?)
Or at least romanticism.
Verbs of event and action within the death of grammar.,
Infinitive,
Something to live and die for, of course. 
We want our beauty loud, striking, bouleversant, now.

Eppure…