Make no mistake about it
the Earth has turned away;
it does so every year
on this decided day; a confused soul, self
(.. and I'm lost in the snow ..)
I know these days.
I have seen too many Januarys.
Though so much is dead;
we plumb what is alive!
when I was but a kid.
this was a favorite week.
Even decades flown,
the 'years of glory' keep.
But this year, I stand in awe
of the ones who -- wear this month -- a loose garment.
Effortlessly. It is too heavy for me now.
A weight. A wet wool coat.
Universe, I beg; just get me through January. Hope.
-and destroy the vicious muse!
(I no longer want her near)
-there is a stench on her breath.
-the World can smell it. But I refuse.
