_ On Your Marx If humans ran a Human Race, __Karl Marx would not be in it. The human depth that he could trace __would leach out in a minute. For he is neither man nor beast __but half-life near demonic, A few kneels from satanic priest __reversing good, moronic. To cut a person into class __is not a humane measure: He chops down people to a mass, __to flesh devoid of pleasure, To muscled skills and cashiered meat, __closed categories of earning, To things that can’t think on their feet __bogged down in certain learning, No open mind, no breath-take view, __no argument, no comeback, No rights, no gifts, no geeks, no Jew, __identity a thumbtack. Karl Marx’s thoughts are aliens __to humane, human living, Shell-less eggs from headless hens __that block the mesh when sieving. As glutenous as childhood sweets, __addictive, raw, and cloying, They’re infantile and bait the streets __his suckers are destroying. X X Get Set If Marx snuck in this Human Race, __his power would diminish. His running mates might set the pace __but he would never finish. He did not end Das Kapital, __Fred Engles had to do it. With no help from his bourgeois pal __you could say that he blew it. He blew off steam in poetry, __both Hell’s and his, in tandem, But left them in Lost Property __unfinished like Oulanem. Oulanem, his abandoned play, __in which the world is “viscous”, “detestable”, “slugs” all the way __from bottom to meniscus. To him all life is less than him, __he’ll brook no competition. To win means breaking life and limb, __be wiped out by perdition. For he would be The Universe, __the Devil’s God’s Dictator, For him there could be nothing worse __than meeting his Creator. So he would run from Majesty, __his back be cracked and bending, For such as he there will not be __a finished, happy ending. X X Go To Hell From thund’rous Earth, a death note bell— __magnetic, swinging, growing— It’s calling Marx to go to Hell __and Marx prepares his going. He is the Bailiff of his Court __who won’t allow defiance. He calls up those who’ve bought his thought __like some debt-pegged appliance. He’s calling in his Master Plan, __this world’s complete recession, Where those who still call him “great man” __must follow in procession. His values wring mud-weighted chains, __no Spirit-lift solution, Inflamed class war, void-surplus pains, __incessant revolution. Both Adam Smith, John Stuart Mill __were advocates for morals. They did not weave their work to kill __or grind in constant quarrels. These human World economists __did not seek Earthly power, Nor wreckage wrenched by fools and fists, __nor crave praise by the hour. The backers who still stick by Marx __with storm or hostile silence, To Hell’s deep cook pot’s frothing sparks __will boil down with his violence. X X Damian Robin is a writer and editor living in the United Kingdom.