stuck like shit in your grips

The New Year will stick
like a shit in the grip of
your shoes.

It is here.
The emperors new clothes
the polished turd.

And what will it bring…
A map?

A skeleton key?

Will you find a clue in a
fortune cookie?

The thaw will  come

and it looks like the whole
world is weeping.

A solitary snowman holds out
as the rest of the word deliquesces.

Bins overflow with cans and cardboard.
The cold pavements look like platinum.

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