Let's get it out of the way:
The solstice tomorrow
gathers shadows
in the blond alley,
building a translucency
until a black flood
of night shapes
soaks across the walk,
empty since it's a ghost town
this close to Christmas,
and metro is empty
but for us lovely few
who need the paycheck,
and this winter is too warm,
it's unsettling,
and a little grinding sleet
wouldn't be unwelcome.

I find myself
with a date tomorrow,
despite convincing myself
that I should really be alone.
I always choose this
immediate connection
and that has to change.
I can't follow the flaking flame
into another courtroom,
I can't dive into another
sly, wild eye that I box up
and store away for when
it's all come down,
and I'm too alone by half.