In August Sun

James Agee Park, as the sun comes up,
a truthful ballad chewed out of a
bubble gum queen, disaffected conformist,
playing on my earbuds, soothing my undeath.
 Even a program of safe rebellion knows
heartache and abandonment, the emptiness
of knowing even those who love you the most
cannot be turned to, cannot stay awake one single hour.
 The sun is sweetest at first light, the world still
half-velvet and welcoming, and it can fool you,
as that bubblegum balllad fades out, ringing your tears
like bells, that there is still magic in this worn out life.
 The sun comes. I put up earbuds and mp3 player,
and face the shifting shoals and sucking sands,
and all the devil I feed and wish I could starve out.
The day, that loses me in the crowd, in August sun.
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