and stuff like that

neat boxes, stocked and labelled, piled high--
an infinite repetition of a molded square,
a refined pattern of character, nature, thought and disposition
an endless inventory of form and its function,
one thought spinning in a circular motion, so perfect,
that Archimedes would be proud of it.

it has become so tangible
that it builds and destroys lives--
the dull, humdrum winds of conformity
gently fanning the souls of the herd
their sleep sound, secured
in the reassurance of normality
in the immunity of their doctored days
from any fleeting ideas
while creativity is molded in their sterile classrooms
the same lines, the same colors celebrated
the same angles replicated
all this so that in the end
they can participate in the parade of convention
wearing boxes on their heads.

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