The eve of this New Year, again, dangerFlows fluid, booze’s fast flux in venousVain channels, popping in the throat and thenThe flood follows. Scars of dependent bloodFrom ‘kiddies’ too, fallen near that flawed tree.Hogmanay wishes for that newer thingBound, as they know, to be nothing newer Than  subsequent pain, just that bit older Than is … More 2025. What’s New about it? What we might think tomorrow when the booze abaits into split head, hopefully only your own?