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Off fish hill Daylight saving time 2025

min(no) newt effect on me.

As part and parcel of terpsichorean repertoire,
one whirling dervish 
flaps his wings at the speed of sound.

With twenty three hours
Sunday March 9th, 2025
essentially 2:00:00 to 2:59:59 
does not exist 
in the night of the switch
(back to the house of Pooh Corner)
not only in Pennsylvania 
(but as well as 
across the United States) 
will begin at 2:00 AM, 
(thus dear reader ye moost 
stay awake two hours into)
Sunday, March ninth
originally implemented over 
one hundred years ago, 
in 1918 during World War I
to help conserve fuel and power 
and extend the workday
where countless nations 
did lyft the bulk of production 
after supporting a wartime economy. 

Working during the sunlight hours 
meant burning less fuel, 
and the ability to work 
later into the day
and moost likely will impact
min-née-ute effect on me
a run of the mill on the Floss
amazingly gracefully aging
long haired pencil necked geek,
who welcomes increased photons
while sunbathing within his alcove
just outside the bedroom window.

Just moments ago, 
I dusk hoovered a dawning realization
which arose within the noggin 
of this sol son begat
from when ma late mother most fecund 
but twenty years ago May 5th, 2025 
hook hot whisked away courtesy grim reaper,
and then, (when following portion of poem written) 
nonagenarian widower father of mine,
who sat bolt upright in bed 
uttering apostrophic comment 
before succombing to catastrophic 
congestive heart failure,
when this sole son visited him on his deathbed
boot merely the painful revelation 
never to talk to the man 
who, how he learned me fist bumping 
suddenly recalled for no particular 
rhyme nor reason 
when dee clocks hour hand moved ahead
remembered by dat
dog gone refrain 
spring ahead, and fall back,
this unemployed chap 
doth down play eclat
courtesy Father Time 
experiencing malignant coup d'etat,
attests that his quotidian schedule 
of being a faux lounge lizard minimally affected
while being holed up here 
in Highland Manor named flat
barely roomy enough 
for thyself, the Missus,
and buzzfeed ding fruit flies
each fuzz beating insect
approximately the size of a gnat
a minor nuisance, though tolerable
within this appealing habitat,

where minor inconvenient truth experienced
while earthling in the balance 
between living social versus being homeless
by this Schwenksville, Pennsylvania resident
cuz as a recipient 
of social security disability,
(which Trump's wrecking ball may obliterate)
social anxiety – and more accurately 
schizoid personality disorder 
psychological qualifier 
that didst get linkedin with receiving 
unearned income int to pay rent,
which fixed (unearned) income budgeted
and predominantly allocated to costs 
of living money basic necessities spent,
hence no need to arise 
bright tailed and bushy eyed,
a freedom akin 
to festive folks camped out in a tent,
which exemption immunizes
this doodle ling middle aged
muddle brained chap 
subjecting unsuspecting readers 
to his inane raving and ranting
affiliated with early morning drivers,
who angrily, frenetically, 
and splenetically rant and vent
thus, the tendency, piquancy, and lunacy
to twitter for the Yardbirds,
and keep company 
with night owls, who went

a hooting for all the world wide web
to hear, whence straw dawgs Bach,
the exact number of hours, yer oblivious
to the tight rigorous mortised schedule
manned by Mister Clock,
essentially foisting on bread winners,
an abstract artificial construct spurring
madcap commuters to scurry in the rat race,
lest tardiness could cost
more than ham iz zone whole paycheck
(to ap pier with permanent dock
hue ment aye shun),
an unwonted blot add hock
king worry about getting canned - laughter
i.e. on permanent furlough,
perhaps forced into a life of crime,
yet if caught... 
courtesy strapping jock
drags me, a wimpy wordsmith
wasting away in a jail cell,
a veritable teenage wasteland
surprised to hear the knock 
of the princess warden
as she turns tumblers within the lock,
mein future fate in her fingers
if let free and clear, 
to hire myself as a robot,
with artificial intelligence 
greater than any mortal man or woman;
one redeeming factor,
would offer opportunity to mock
management, and more pertinently
mandate to rock
and roll to the incessant muted,
yet devastatingly loud tick tock.
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