Coloured Kool-Aide Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Coloured Kool-Aide



Telephone wires perambulate like hating
gophers digging up the yard. Billions of

dropping stars are sighing in unison as
the aching of the teddy bears awakens

the cameras of conceit. You and I are
using toothpicks to strip the floor of

its diseases. We sometimes march. We
sometimes do not. Often we delay the

very meaning of getting things done.
I request that we try and drag solo.

Attempt, perhaps, a single framed smile.
But owls know better and flutter like bats

stretched inside an imploding valued glass.
Drink the drink offered, not the one that

was desired. Be brave, cowardly pictures.
Glow like icons on the painted walls.

We tapped our feet in unison to the
bleating of the water pipes cavorting.

Electricity shuts on and off. We find
we do not mind, as we clap our toes

upon the tiled floors. So many people
are afraid to expand, and so they whimper

away their possibilities. Instead, they
embrace only one side or the other.

Let us convince ourselves that we will
never agree to drink the coloured kool-aide.

Sunday, July 12, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: philosophical
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