Late August

I want a sunrise that stains like coffee,

misty mornings with a fading dew

we all crave the moments

that helped get our asses through

those younger years with porch light swings,

gateway drugs from scar tissue

long before we ever knew

half of what

what a city like this could do

it will drive a sane man crazy

till they kill themselves with

bloodshot eyes in

bathroom mirrors too shaky

from speakers with voices that cut

through the walls

like hatchets to termite lumber

so now I’m chopping wood

and leaving splinters somewhere under

where they sip from shallow wells

to feel like burning ember

a heat and light inside ourselves

we spend our lives to remember

and I might die from thirst

but I’ll be damned if it helps

because the times I feel most empty

are in rooms full of people,

more like empty shells

neon green and charred burnt orange

in a room of blues and beiges

but where you find resentment

there is always pain under pages

from the mountain passes in their heads

landslides in desolate places

no

I don’t want to be here,

headlights from passing cars

I'd rather be laying under pine trees

moon shining into mason jars

but,

I know now

not to run on too far,

because the ones meant to stay

will always meet you where you are

so if I catch the sunrise today

it might just save my life