The Ides Of March Poem by Tony Kitt

I kill you by naming you.
Because people are all breath.
If one speaks against autocrats,
his autobiography will be kept
in a cage.

Man is the sum of postures he
dreams up. Every vigilante
carries a weathervane.
Your mutation can be tried
in a juvenile court.

One who wields an edge
may get wedged. An ex-emperor
sings Blue Moon backwards
as he delivers his apostrophic empire
for a post mortem.


[First published in SurVision Magazine, Ireland]