Yes I'm all dizzy and tired and concerned <br />about the blurred vision of plastic minds. <br />Thinking that if I reach internal nirvana <br />I won't feel so weak all the time! Why pretend <br />to be concerned when the streetlights don't <br />splatter on at night? <br /> <br />When the towels are slapping and the hang-over <br />has begun, we'll be wishing for salt shakers <br />filled with peppered ice. Why let concern <br />milk your emotions when the vision is <br />as sick as a worried old lady in hell? <br /> <br />Snarling sharks circle the wagons, demanding <br />that the hair be cut and the suit put on. <br />Conform! That is the mantra, the intoxication. <br />I wonder where the deodarant really gets applied? <br /> <br />It's all a massive headache, this trying to imagine <br />a set form of rules. Planning for success and <br />putting away the emotions for failure. <br /> <br />Looking like hell inside but outside the glamour <br />is floating. Upset with the members of Parliament <br />who sit in isolated splendour playing at 'getting <br />things done'. But what's done is the thinking, <br /> <br />the imagination that is floored by the teen years. <br />We are all carbon copies of one another. Sharing <br />the very same feelings of absolute isolation.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/carbon-copy-4/
