with a crowbar through his skull
no photograph depicts
the forty-seven stabs
no video circulates
of their blowing up his body
then picking through the pieces
trying to find his heart
sure that if they left it behind
it would become a shrine
a monument, a holy grail
thousands of young men and girls
would travel to see
but thorough as they were
they did not notice
the peasants who skulked behind them
gathering every scrap of brains
to carry back and feed to their children
hoping the rat scientists were right
and someday when the world has long been safe
for capital and capitalists
a flame will glow again
a fire will burn
and revolution spread out of the jungles
back into the cities
climb the sleek towers
and flash across the skies
not “he is back!”
but revolution is
and masters will quiver in their beds
or closets
unspined
wondering how this could have happened
they had it all stamped out so long ago
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