Some kind of sinister
has slipped through the frame.
Name dropping got me
nowhere, but slowly.
For the final time I don
the lowly robes
of a lesser monarch
whose haphazard governing
has left the kingdom a parody.
I’ve arranged the books
on my shelf
in no particular order.
I have no new schemes,
no new drama.
One more whiskey sour
will finish me.
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