The moon is at three quarters which means it’s
A quarter since I last saw you and I
Begin one more one a.m. run down
A street that reminds me how close we are
But something about this town makes me think
Of just before dawn when little girls come at me
With their heads half ******* on, and I take
A turn towards the police station ‘cause I’m doing nothing
Wrong, but before I can veer away, your ghost appears
Out of the atmosphere, and drops me to my knees
Under well lit streets, misflown haphazard flags, and gives me
A one-two-three, and then drifts through me to the trees
And leaves me trembling between empty
Carports and P.O. boxes and thick coastal fog
And I know it’s not the ghost of you but the ghost
Of what you did because you had to
And my analog black dog ticks off minutes inside me
And I get to my feet and keep running.