MOLAR pain. Prufrock, pondering again whether to propose, to
MARRY, but can’t think straight for pain. Will there be time enough? Or will time, a cat, slink away like coiling smoke into the night,
OPTIC trace decaying in the fading light? Pain, held at bay with
DROLL musings, unspoken to his peers. Pain, and droll, and fear: does the eternal Footman snicker as he passes?
Note: some (very) slender echoes of Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.
Oh, Mr Eliot, you’ve done it again! LOL