No more slogans, poet —
your great good words of theory
have no rhythm,
are no generator
to charge a rebel’s heart.
No more slogans, poet —
to change them make them feel
both bullet and healing,
scent of blood and of
lily on the casket.
No more slogans, poet —
your time is closing;
they may take you soon. What
do you think we need most now —
your flag, or your fist?
Dark Matter 
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