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.
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