Late August for me

Our friends divorce and drift apart
The dog becomes a mass of tumors
Brazil burns

It’s late; perhaps it’s early
In a dark room with tinnitus and the never ending throb of air conditioning

My ghost climbs out of my body
Glides through the doors across the balcony, the pool, the Yucatán

Ghosts go where thoughts go
Up on the ceiling looking down at the dumbest things I’ve ever done
Dispersed with the morning mist as dawning doubts litter the walkways in any and all directions

Oh this trial and error life
I won’t let you eat me