August

Adam

Adam

August is here and the lion roars. Golden rays wane and bid you farewell like a house guest retiring for the evening, but we shine in the final quarter. The last bottle of wine lingers. The morning comes with a crack of eggs as the coffee pours.

Some of us catch our breath for the cold air to come. The rest bask in the remainder of the sun. We were hoping for fun but the music never started. Pour one out for the dearly departed.

I wrote forever on a postcard but had to guess the address. I’m not counting macros but I’ve got a lot on my plate. The month of the aftermath, where things don’t quite add up. Were we burned from the hope, or caught cold when it faded?

The make or break season for those plucked from a roster. The heat remains and the sweat persists but in August I never quit. The no-show nobodies leave us sat on the bench and we forget the memories of sinking our teeth. The only sinking in August is when the sand finds our feet.

Tell me a story, write it in brief on your teeth. When you smile all is clear as the future repeats. August is the time for the performing elite, when we are all home for roost who should reign when he speaks.

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