We are a museum for lost causes and revolutionary dreams.
Our fists are flatlining green.
I have been to Berlin’s burning squares.
I have seen its empty chairs,
art squats and its bones.
There is more than mourning to be done.
There is more than analysis
Remind me of Paris in ’68 and I will talk nostalgic.
Remind me of Dili in ’75 and I will talk handwringing and liberal guilt.
Our liberal guilt is a silencer and
we are a well oiled, quiet pop gun-
we run empires of mind and nothing more.