I'll never be a southern messenger poet

what was beyond us, or what came before us,
or what town we lived in, or where the money came from,
or what new night might leave us hungry and reeling,
we were simply going forward, riotous and windswept,
and all too willing to be struck by something shining
and mad, and so furiously hot it could kill us.

-"Oh Please Let it Be Lightning" by Ada Limon


Her book Bright Dead Things might kill me when it comes out in September.