The blazing trails of history distort our
thoughts and we succomb to dire memories
and daily shirades with knights in shining
labour galloping around us testosteronically
and leaving us craving for their misplaced
doses of ritalin.
Who needs to flarf his way into this world
when subject sentences can de derived from
memory and frontal lobes - that's kwab in Dutch
by the way, what a wonderful word - and are up
for grabs at will and wit whilst slightly
wuthering between minds and mirrors.
Ever so slightly, needless to say.
The time has come to give the future a way.