The speaker is angry, but it isn't a loud, shouting anger. It starts as "frost in my belly," a cold feeling lodged deep in the body, and the word "bitter" sharpens it into something sour and lasting. The target is "the state," and more specifically "the men / who fiddle so we dance." That image is a neat twist on the old idea of fiddling while something burns: here, the powerful play the tune and ordinary people are forced to move to it, like puppets or dancers with no say in the music.
The last line, "so we cross eyes," is a little odd, and that's part of its effect. Crossing your eyes suggests confusion, strain, or being made to look foolish. Judging by the imagery, the speaker feels that people are kept dizzy and distracted, unable to see clearly. The poem is very short and clipped, with no punctuation, which makes the mood tight, restrained, and chilly, as if the anger is being held in rather than let out.