I have this crazy dream
that haunts me from time to time
over a cup of tea in the late evening

when I’m watching the tube
or reading the news
I start to fear

that I’m gonna go
Unabomber
one of these days

Who needs the inconvenience
of a particular cause
when there’s so much to choose from

I’ll carve some intricate parts
Load up a box with tiny nails
Blow it up and laugh at the reporters

Maybe there will be deaths
Surely there will be maimings and investigations
and profiles that pin me down like a snake to water

I’ll only write my manifesto
after I’ve already begun
to make my mark

and when they finally take me down
I’ll go quietly with a leaden stare
into whatever hole they’ve got in store

for I’m committed to the plan
from conception through closure
doing my best to be an object lesson

on what happens when someone takes action
that doesn’t fit the mold of what’s expected
Everyone will stop

They’ll mostly deplore me
Some will adore me
And some will think me mad

But if it happens I should be forgiven
for my model behavior
These late nights have taught me

that someone will make themselves a scapegoat
at least once in any generation
that won’t acknowledge the extent of its sins

until the goat bearing them away explodes in the wilderness
It takes a pile of blood to make it happen
I’m afraid that one day if I offer my stinking back for the load

in my eyes you’ll see
just before you lock me away
the one truth that drove me to this

that a bad dream can happen to anyone
and in fact is happening to everyone
everywhere at once