Revolutions fail when they succeed;
Their spoils spoil in glory’s stale heat.
I freed love from debtor’s jail,
And was rewarded with debts.
Tyranny’s cancer will never die.
Till every cell is separated,
I scoff as love’s prison guards
Still lock each other in cramped cells;
But where will I sleep tonight?
I’d bomb a million banks to get that back.
But time can’t be pried
from under the fingers
of executed execs,
once so eager to squeeze the throttle
that has no reverse.
They even owned our skill in owning.
I would not own you.
But how you love a uniform.
And so do I.
-D. M. Collins