Soon there is a pile of faucet parts scattered amongst spares and unknown pieces, rather akin to the orphan adjectives left floundering in the margin of the paper, favorite, evocative words to be invoked and set into their proper place in a poem that has not, is not, will not be written. The pile of adjectives is a give-away, though, that requires a stronger alibi than the disingenuous claim to not having the intention of writing a poem. Anyone can casually scribble out a phone message on a pristine sheet of paper with a perfectly sharpened pencil, but to begin toying with sentence structure, line breaks, word choice, to rough out a variable or two in the margin: this begins to test plausibility.
Why read, when there are at least three Clooney films at theaters, when every night between now and Christmas is scheduled, and when the rest of the time can be filled with sleeping?
Reminder: fifty degrees in December is warm. November was warm, picnics on lakeshores just before Thanksgiving. Rain is better than snow which is better than ice. Even though it is dark and grows darker, global warming is an effective at suicide prevention. Snow tires remain in storage.