Dear Students of the Revolution,
the post-orgasmic haze of too much theory-jerk
waking up in the arms of comrades whose names we cannot remember
because we never bothered to ask
we do not remember one another's names
because we have forgotten even the tasks
we set out to accomplish with one another.
zombies now, slits slashed across one another's throats from
nails sharpened by keyboard strokes,
filed by anxious teeth, bitten and bitter,
our minds are still young, our
fingers still point at the moon, our
tears come so easily still, even as our
eyes remain affixed on outrage,
every smart essay democratising offence
like left-wing porn for atomised proletariat
staring at flatscreens,
lonely and wanting to connect.
there will be no revolution without lovers.
yet, we are already loved,
we are already the Beloved,
there is no more fighting left to do, just
build and build homes for one another, just
build and build homes for one another,
I know that am tired
from being so long, homeless.
I hope you feel the same way too.