In this special Sex Week edition of Get Lit!, our occasional literature forum, we offer an incredible poem about Karl Marx's Pussy. It's taken from Arcadia_Missa's essential new journal, the Open Office Anthology and written on the journey to, and read at the Insurrectionary Desire show at the Peckham art space, by Hannah Black

Karl Marx's Pussy

let us imagine Karl Marx's pussy 

compressed into a chair at the British library

shielded by a heavy overcoat thrown over the lap

and beneath that a pair of linen trousers

beneath that, plain white panties

the pussy lips slightly parted, like a mouth about to speak

humid but not exactly wet

this mild excitement caused by a crucial passage

in Hegel's logic – could it be, thinks Marx,

that the dialectical movement of history can

be understood as the unfolding self-abolition

of the totality to which it is immanent? Marx's pussy

flexes involuntarily, the word 'pussy' implies a totality

made up of labia, clitoris and so on, it would be incorrect

to describe it as a hole, just as communism is not

merely a critique of suffering but the real movement

that abolishes the present state of things – the deep

pink of the interior of Marx's pussy is not exactly

red, the pussy is not yet sufficiently lubricated

to accept the entry of proletarian revolution,

one faction advises stimulation of the clitoris

while another describes this as 'vanguardist'

yes, it would be better for Marx's pussy to get wet

on its own account, without extra inducements, with

the deep sodden wetness that is the wetness of real

desire, the unmistakeable wetness of wanting,

the wetness of a necessary love

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