August Song

The summer streets
bleed bubbling black tar
and suffer with me
as they are abandoned
for sand and
taut naked flesh.
Lonely, left for dead
end streets
to swallow
and choke
me down like so much
beer and smoke.
Paper/plastic trash
carpet the floors with saved
aluminum cans
peppered with ash
and butts.  The fans
are replacement friends
and hum the droning
melody of my August song.