grotesquely, descending in red vest
down down past lingering guests,
the habitué stumbles once,
the heft
of ancient dreams budding
once again, unencumbered by
alcohol now, but dumbing-down
slightly, each effort to face the
white orb a demented failure,
each salute to friends
dampened instantly, and no one
near to catch his hand or hold him
closer after last night’s
disappointment.
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