he wasn’t really in the mood for writing poetry or other words in sequence that might pass for something described as such. such letterous collections are rarer than they used to be. those close to him know why, there are less needs to walk on shores with toes in sand and splashing at three minutes to midnaught than there used to be. there are less needs to be anxi-preventive, and less needs to be liked. the second-g man is no more either, that might be a factor. the damned pleasures sit four fifths complete but promisingly loved. he reflects to puzzle box again, but probably wont until he’s alone. christmas is the time for pilsner and this one is no different, but everything else is. better and different in an undefined order, perhaps both.