runoff

In a room filled with the runoff from three
different concerts, people whispered to who
they showed up with that everyone else
was clearly completely insane.
Guys who drove in from out of town to hear
the songs they nodded to in their trucks,
were polite to all the punk girls because the way
they rolled their eyes was an admission to the world
that they were happy to be the gate keepers
in between those without style and the cool.
The youngest crowd was out there
for some radio familiar where reflections
slid around a crowded stage and from just
listening you couldn’t tell where the song
began, and all the tacked on shining spectacle
burst forth in small explosions just to emphasize
the fact that everyone in the crowd that night
was right where they were meant to be forever.
They were copies of other copies and no
mercy would be given to the posers.
They all bought t-shirts at the stands under
the bleachers while the rain began and the gutters
filled with make up, tears, and smoke.
After making their way inside the three crowds
formed a single one, and withstood
the collective condition by telling whoever
could hear them that their music was trash
and everyone thought they were stupid.

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