Friday, January 31, 2014

New Poetry by William G. Davies Jr.

At The Cemetery
January is such
a conducive month
to die in.
Its cold, dark.
The trees are blank
and that uncle
who's cheating
on his wife
invariably arrives late
to a chorus
of vapory exhalations.

- William G. Davies Jr. 2014
The New Year
Snow endows
January's torpid light
with a CFL aura
as if the incandescence
of Christmas
had been so long ago
and those four packs
of GE colored bulbs
never looked better
than strung on the tree.

- William G. Davies Jr. 2014

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