While not as heedlessly kinetic as the conference had arranged,
They were passive in their solitude
and utterly bereft of anything like ambition,
thus they began to wane,
Though they loitered ‘round ‘till midday, when they left.
Noon’s missive’s troubled inching toward the lighter
Began with the band’s end in their apartments
Destroying what still remained
of the Fifties’ fighter
Whose last fight had sparse turnout
at the fence.
Evening saw their halos
over San Diego’s travesty,
by the union cameramen who killed them.
Those Lilliputian shrivels of our majesty
Melted even in the stares of those who’d billed them.
This is a tangible reminder of what I am like when I am abandoned, WITHOUT VODKA, for days on end. Sleep well and best wishes. I'm going to go memorize T. S. Eliot and wonder what went wrong when I wake up, and wonder of wonders, am still not him. Live lightly whilst I sleep.