Helicopter Forty Hours Airborne

With their cruel Laughter I quickly ended the chapter About a started helicopter, Still air-borne forty hours after, Because of flyers never the softer Above zinc or Rafter, Until results are born Or dreams to shreds torn… And then their cruel laughter began, With all the heat of a room without fan: I like a new album denied a hit Or listeners choosing it to challenge a bit… Then, I choosing to accept my cajolery That evening showing up at a gallery. But plotters are fearless things of every century, Even as a Government is thought a sanctuary.