Ennui

In the style of T.S. Eliot. ******* Ronaldo sprawled in luxury across from where the spaniel lay, pretending to read Mallarme and yawning, stuck in Chapter One. The Grandfather ticked heavily, there was no other sound in sight except dear Josephine who plonked and murdered dear Stravinsky's Rite. Boredom, and the day's absorption with the National Election, who shall be our next Great Leader? pray not some hapless interceder! Clementine declared, "the weather is a bit inclement, what to wear for Blanche's soiree, burgundy, or pearly grey?" Ronaldo trifled with religion, "Heaven doesn't need a poet who maligns the Holy Spirit, I am going straight to Hell, where I'll meet Lucrezia Borgia, who will toy with my affections, feed me fabulous confections, poisonous, my second death." Nobility has late escaped us, suburbanites are out to scold us, gentle is as gentle does is not the same as it once was. We're outcasts in a sea of trouble, cucumber sandwiches and quince have disappeared in all the rubble, what price pomp and circumstance?