Clasped in the Paw of a Future Rat

I remember that I have

always been good at finding these

Large crowds, which march

with banner and hands aloft

I always find life in the chants

Defiance was my first toy

Lately, everything is poison,

which I find leaves little to desire

Everything tastes

like this 

quiet and silent death

My pillow is a ventriloquist

for almost dead people

Or at least an evil fuck

What about the living things,

which can’t find me

within this concrete and steel?

I stand, as usual,

on the other side of the valley,

just out of earshot of my totem

Where I am one of the

self-appointed rangers

of the urban sprawl

Lean on the illusionary walls

My tool belt is,

well worn and faded

With dry spatter

of everyone's blood

While feeling this weariness

of assisting in the erection 

of these complex conduits

Among the diligence

of maintenance of the foundation

I found our future

clasped in the paws of

the city rats

Which, when I unrolled,

each said, nothing memorable

Only a time capsuled narcissism

of egotistical nostalgia

Each had a detailed picture

drawn of a 

empty face

With the underlined word

"ME"

scrawled in pencil underneath

When driving pillars

for the next corridor

I met a future rat

Who had a encrypted note

in his paw that I 

can't read, but at least

I know in the future

There are still rats

who use the channels

We built by our hands