The boys laced under cover of dark and ran the bases, or rather, ran to where the bases had once been. They floated over scars on the infield, phones glowing like shadow balls at the corners.
Above me, all the alien lovers are asleep, stuck together beneath their foreign moons.
Driving, we saw a shepherd swollen to the shoulder and I told her it was a deer.
Without fans, the stands turn to a castle
of concrete and sea birds.
August burns on and a quiet resin lifts from my skin.
The ruins of my body idling on the couch. Drunk again
or just resigned to erase another day with baseball
and sleep and paperbacks. You