Add water! They resprout into humanoid
folk full of calm cheer--since they avoid
our human tedia. An airport's an epitome
of boredom so deep as to deserve
plurality.

A crystallizer sits. We talk. An entertain-
ing raconteur, for their childhoods train
them not to bore; listeners encyst. So
they're fun--at least as long as you're
not boring them. But in the end, poor
human, you're born to make & endure
ennui.

So bring an epic novel for your
long flight through this galaxy mute:
the fire-opal footballs, diamond heads,
and asses of glass. Ignore that one
perverted slab of matte-gray slate.
No one annoys me. The sun can't set.
By dusk (hour five), I'd appreciate
Plane talk. Crave even bores. Anyone.
Durin's shining hoard! And yet...
No fun.