You, the brown haired boy playing with sticks
Dream them into people and change their names at will.
Stick men who walk where you tell them to
And speak in a language they and you know.
For this brotherhood of stick people,
Assume trust and a common set of motives.
It is your world to make as you please.
Then, when you roll your eyes up
Reloading from the candy in the top of your brain,
Bring your stick men to me.
I ask to be part of your tribe.
Work this union of image
And build it if you can my young friend.
Let sticks make your stories
Until their little voices no longer come
You will grow the hands to build and rebuild
Be that one to bring forth what our doubts deny.
July 16, 2001