| The Young
Ones
by
Lee Moskow
she might take it back if our bones were equators and if our skin were latitudes. I opened the door to too many words, the warnings of signpost neon staring me in the face with dead eyes. the old ones do wish us beauty and a resounding trail of breadcrumbs. we were ninth out of the gate - the doldrums west of here, where the women smile contently, ravishing hair like shadows. she looked up to find us on the beach in some shakespearian play, shouting pentameter. we are the young ones, open to all possibility and drunk with meaning. Copyright © 1998 Lee Moskow All Rights Reserved |
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