i prefer
the scant weeks
when night dons
her onyx finery
allowing the
tired sun an
early evening
short days
draped in
grayaplomb
the flickering
candle flame
the wind’s howls
and a good book
happily fucked
under a soft
warm blanket

my seasonal
depression
only changes
flavors as
the year wanes
and i can make
any excuse to
fit the season
too cold
too rainy
too hot
too blustery
too many people
too much time
so many
too manys
one for every
shade of
self defeat

it isn’t
giving up
more
a refusal
to launch