The amount of in jokes, self referential
and basically kind of aggrandising gunk
that sits in my head is staggering,
so you best believe,
as the calendar flips its crinkled pages,
thirty one losing the thirty
as we decimate our Jans,
this year kickstarts again,
our cycle primed for another
seat at the merry go round,
though we are all frozen horses.

We are primed to move forward,
only forward, but what you make
it stirs one of us, our drawer
full of spares patiently brewing
for their time,
their shining moments caged in
basking sunlight bringing them
into the fray.

I did it again.
And I will continue,
until it no longer amuses me.