You
spoke of The Beach
and
how now
the
young
could
not find
that
isolation.
Text-gen
I thought;
No
matter where -
twenty-four
seven
woven
in their matrix:
no
hiding place for solitude,
no
escape into a fantasy,
lived
for a while -
until
its walls fall down.
And
of my end of the hippy-trail -
sweet
essence of Nepal
that
fogged my mind;
brought
by friends
who
had scaled heights
rope
and piton in hand;
I
rose a little,
then
plummeted -
broken
minded.
