My mind is a musty record crate.
Schlepped around. Only exposed to
monthly swap meets, and nostalgic nights.

Brush decades of debris
from my mental music (re)collection,
hoping to add freshly-dug earworms
to proven, fossilized melodies.

Casting moldy bait in binary streams,
I hook the next big one-
come face-to-face with its urgency,
though I am no longer in any rush.