It’s the first poem
of a brand-new year,
day one
verbal contagion,
ready to spread
this syllable plague.

Three hundred
and sixty-five
more days to
try and survive
two thousand
nineteen.

So, this should be
something written
spectacularly.
Not a new years
resolution
but a declaration
to the creative nation
of something
much improved
then the poets
that they viewed
all last year.

This is the first
poem of the
new year.