the end of the summer

it's the end of the summer and all i can do is listen to lucinda williams and ray lamontagne and drink beer in pools and tonight it's cherries and cherries and too much wine. we danced in the rain tonight, after the thunder and lightning passed, and i opened my mouth and all the heat and the mugginess and the heaviness rushed to my head and i wished for lakes and mountains and loneliness. tonight i'm trying to finish a short story i'm hoping to submit to some literary journals but it's becoming more difficult, the characters being a little too close to my heart, too wrapped up in the confusion of these days. tell me i am not the only one who wants to leave and run and run and run, westward.