The you you denied yourself when you were seventeen
and listening to "Crucify" on your Walkman, and thinking complicated
thoughts that remained on infinite lockdown.
The you wanting to leap with five young deer over crumbling gravestones into the twinkling night.
The you yearning to decorate your body in the lights of the universe
and the bright gleaming hope of the solar systems, all of them, real &
you who wants to live dangerously/hard/fully, and then have
the tenacity & cold steel will to sit down and write it all down,
and write it well.
The you pounding your fist, demanding to live beyond the ether of thoughts & dreams.