Protest marches filled the screens and blasted
to my virgin sense of what I thought
was linear and so discreet.

Strands of strings sprang plucked
from vast electric
tendrils on my Youthful sensibilities.

Pungent clouds of happy, psychic mazes,
skipping past the borders of reality,
camped vainly on the doorstep of all establishments.

(c) 1996 Oliver Smith