Revisiting Older Styles (a.k.a. Poetry 9000)

i pickle in the filth and frost of every morning snow
while the happy and the heavy make a kind of mottled glow
and if the harry that we’re halfway into makes a difficult to go
know that all I mean to say is all I meant to let you know

but for every single sickening stop of the second hand
i do my best to steady finger through the monday morning plans
that i’m setting up and setting out to make my pointer finger aim
the direction of sun is always future tense regardless of which way you came

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