you spout, riding that pinball machine, stick sticking, balls balling, beeps beeping, clangs clanging, hair sprayed a poofed helmet, a mirror of the metal band on the altar before us, and we line up along its flanks, lights dazzling our eyes, tiny acolytes, drinking in your wisdom, too young to see the line you tread, torn jeans, graffitied chucks, ripped t-shirt, peeking out beneath anarchist stained jean jacket, armor for a battle you know you can’t win, but we don’t know that, not yet, placing our quarters along the edge waiting for the moment you choose us to follow you
