Future Keys (10.05.09)

This could well be
The last of the heathen war-songs.
A final crescendo
Most abstracting of cries,
Devoid of mythoglyphics,
To be heard from the outside
Of the mouth
Of this ingrate;

Ever the dirty rotten stopout
Who amalgamade words,
All verminous and lyricidal
Uttered the utter gutter base hybrid
Who played perverted infections, learnt.
Taught without past –
- No class;
Inbetween and none besides.

How dare he.
How dare he.
How dare I be so arrogant.
No faith I renounced
(For faith I don’t have)
No brain disintegrated
To mere sludgy matter,
(Not yet at least),
But must I continue to disappoint
All the anthropomorphic clouds
Of yestermen?
Since they’re perpetually swirling
On perpetual reputation.

All I know,
Is that I wish to know,
“Will it ever be good enough?”
Otherwise I’m packing it up,
Quitting before I fall further
Into overfilled history.

I’ll take the keys for the future
If they’re on offer.