Drab rebels have no day-glo colors.
Chromatic tie-dyed t-shirts
with hand embroidered blue jeans
are become gray hoodies
with camouflage print pants.
Separate and indignant
in nylon tent cocoons,
they listen on their iPods
to personalized playlists.
They mill around in habitats
where apathetic drummers
thump two-tone bongo drums.
Where is their Seeger, their Dylan or their Lennon to sing a noble song?
Where is their Warhol or Vonnegut to illuminate ideas?
Drab rebels you are moths…not butterflies.
Repost from March, 2012
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