Future Shock

No sojourn in one place

Long enough to hear

A symphony; or grace

The embattled ear

With more than a metallic

Unmetrical lyric.

The technological cult

Makes a heresy of art.

Objects, as a result,

Already depart,

Outmoded as the halo

Or sacred hollow.

New ages have begun.

Mirrors in orbit soon,

Facsimiles of the sun,

Will outshine the superfluous moon,

Though ideas of dark remain

Imprinted on the brain.

Genetic engineers

Are ready to replicate

Themselves throughout the years,

Until they germinate

In a pseudo-mortal pod

A pseudo-god.

Before the eighties close

Monsters may lie awash

As frightening as those

By Hieronymous Bosch;

Man dwell in the sea again,

Reluctant amphibian.

Age, observers say,

Is unable to adapt

And must be kept away

From routes not mapped.

I obstinately refuse

To live as a recluse,

Or in a ghetto for

The non-activist

Geriatric poor,

Those history missed.

Tam willing to relocate,

If it's not too late.

If only to act as a brake:

Toys disobey the child.

Change for change's sake

Turns objects wild.

Obsolescence as an aim

Leaves all change the same.