Early August

Ghost people come and go — married men

Crawl back to their bitter wives

And teen runaways head home

.

People have walked away without excuses 

For the lack of fabricated intimacy

And concern for your daily tragedies

But if you stop to think,

These days haven’t been so lonely

.

Tiny sweat drops, microscopic sand on my face and pale freckled chest —

The sun shines through our veil of melancholy

Yet I wouldn’t call this unhappiness

.

I’ve put my hope in a distant tomorrow

.

ML

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