Kevin Young



Son, the words that aren't

yet yours

are the ones we want


most to hear. Forget

the dead, the executions

& the moon that disappears


like most everything, see

how it returns?

Forget those lists


of the dead

that appear like paperwhites

at years end, narcissuses, 


something to aspire to--

so many forgot

or not


even mentioned.Forget

the assassins, the foolish  

critics, the silence


we all learn. the ghosts

of the words

that go away. Instead,


keep trying

your tongue like a flame

about to start, the sound


of flint striking stone, your mouth.

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