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The Young Wild

by Matthew Zangen

We've stolen ourselves
every day, for tomorrow,
leading our smallest selves
by wrists and elbows
to remember,
always soon
the world spins behind you,

and we will forget
what we have left.

Once we held the air
in our fingers like breath,
compressing everything.

We burned throats raw on liquor
and howling love.
The night demanded our names
and we crossed fingers together,
our arms dancing
in the fiery shadows,
claiming time only borrows us,
and our feet spun the earth
behind us,

and the days compressed, too,
fires flicker and fly away,
and I am begging,

Tomorrow, need less.
Our hands are open,
balancing on air,
floundering for fingers
in the shrinking dark;
we only know who we have left
for now.


Posted on 03/25/2015
Copyright © 2020 Matthew Zangen

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