ACT VI

EXEUNT  Hafez the Turk with Borbognoni.
Eratocles to Lesbia as he faces the other occupants:

    'Mad passengers on Life's untimely main
With boarding pass, who signal to the plane,
Such sad and paltry virtue as you're due
Would yet an airport's tower misconstrue;
That pilots and their air-controllers may
In congress, or in *******, delay
(Desirous yet of wings they fain possess)
To mount the air—with each bright stewardess
Their forms and then their maidenhood address . . .  

     Out, Out.  Such trash ennobles none but thee;

    'For craft shall ever land as birds must fly—
Checked luggage fill the hold when drinks are served;
And whether prey or falcon take to sky,
The crew must make our passage well-deserved;
Though lightning rend the night all 'round th'plane
And flame, as to a spleen, thy fevered brain.
Perchance you hope the pilot to dissuade,
Whose path through trackless wastes your flight directs.
Your shamming virtue tarnishes your blade
And though your flight be cut, it fain connects
That shining port of entry that you seek
Where love's most noble strength is rendered weak.'  

   'Away. Methinks the cabin crew I hear:     
      Fair Lesbia—have you my passport ?'

We soon got wind of of the crime: he wound up with a wound but weathered it fairly well, waiting for the affair to wind down while they wondered whether windy weather had played a role affecting the whole scene. The effect of the hole, (seen in court) was downplayed, read at the hearing as a likely red herring.

The jury, having heard, gave their verdict as a herd; unanimously.
(And, more famously, anonymously.) The infamously failed assassination set precedents for presidents as we asked, as a nation, to have safety take precedence over presidential presence, urging all residents to monitor their residence since shooters deft for lead could leave others left for dead indeed.

The casings were recovered, and the whole case covered by the press (though some journalists, pressed by the particulars of the case, cased out the possibility of covering close-up) until the case closed up.

My old dull knife; I love that blade.
Behold her blunted self portrayed:
She shines, yet cannot make her point
Unsheathed, she’ll only disappoint.

Her edge, that dares to draw no blood
When cold, shall carve no willing wood;
Well-warmed, she’ll lose the fight to butter . . .
Despite her glitter, she’s no cutter.

A useless tool. There is none worse.
I’ll sharpen her—and then, my verse.

Single monks dwell alone, due to pride
but true monkeys go seeking their bride;
and a monkess (no nun)
loves some rain with her fun
on the street’s sunny simian side.

Cohabiting the sky

suspended droplets and sunlight

cloud vapor silvered with solar illumination:

A MONKEY’S WEDDING !

We shrieked it and jumped around

along that shifting frontier

between childhood and joy

between sunshine and falling raindrops

MONKEYS !

We knew they were entering into conjugal bonds;

nuptial specifics were irrelevant

the celebration was probably far away

in Borneo or Congo or Amazonia . . . or behind the sky

but it was monkeys getting married

only there and then:

along that impermanent line

where the rain didn’t know the sun was out

and the sun did not know it was raining

that fine line: monkeyshine

shout it out (when you were 8)

negative ions in the air

distant yells of children

hopeful smell of peaceful summer neighborhoods

THE MONKEY’S WEDDING