I Won't be Ordinary

I was born for great things,
Not to be shriveled up in dusty overcoats... 
Not to be a familiar co-passenger
To a host of clerks,
Playing cards to office.
Not to know the names of small
Stations by heart,
Not to steal glances at the sleaze 
Hanging from spat upon walls.
Not to watch others win lotteries
And marvel at someone else's
Pre-Troy Ithaca.
I was born for great things
And rhyme will take me there.
Words from a poet's wine cup..
Words crackling in some Devonshire fireplace,
Or thoughts hanging from an old portrait.
Playing hard to get,
Behind webs of spiders and politics,
In a fatwa issued bedroom in Kashmir.
I've rode into the valley of death
And i have liked what i have seen.
Ordered a Che cocktail of blood and sweat,
In K.F.C where no one sees..
The weather forecasts of a revolution.
Possible thunderstorms
Maximum temperature: A Burning Cuban Cigar
Minimum temperature: A cold kitchen of an out of work miner.
To have my scratched out,
Abandoned scribbles
Be the uprising manifesto.
To love the love of Paris,
And if betrayed, build another Carthage
And have Dido perform an aria
By the only shores of my burning world.
I am destined for great things.