  EQUINOX Tommorrow is off, put on hold; faith, hope, and love are shelved cans of film, and the jar of ideas is filled with brine awaiting a different freedom. This summer equinox knocks to find me barely awake at its passing and cursing the light that won't heal another's suffering.
It has rained all day and you tell me 600 persons were evacuated in the flooding when we talk. There are no fire flies this far into the city anyway and even if the grasses were dry the crickets would not grind any softer. I have been promised that the meaning of life is time by an uncle I got drunk a dozen Christmasses ago. I immerse myself in it like a bath of gravy and barely float. I shovel the walk of it every morning when I wake and notice its passing when the last quarter moon rises behind the clouds.
Decades too young to retire from life, I give up anyway. I stand accused of dreaming of a world too good to be real. Evidence is presented without a spell check in great abundance for the good of the masses. They tell me their fears and wish me well enough alone, trapped in prisons of their own regret. I stand inside my cell tonight because I know my way around here even in the dark. 
