when you’ve had your fill
of being scorched and throwing frisbees
and high pitched races down still
staircases, when
your organs queue to dysfunction
on the way to polyclinics
and your body is a patchwork
of scars and galaxies of bruises -
here is a compilation
of what it was like to be young
and wandering and idealistic
when nothing was mechanical but
your pencil, when you loved
and saw macaws for doves