"when the hurly burly's done
and the battle is lost or won"
In reason, madness is plural--a vision of a future.
Beaumont Haversham, their unseen operand, and behind such, their dreams and plans multiplied like invasive weeds--a plan of his own--to be sprung at the right moment. Would it be right to say, the nuptial idiot daydreamings, were intertwined?
Love birds, exodussed blindly towards Haiti, with the wire given to them, "there will be a wedding!" Graceful swans translated towards that far kingdom--a man of independent means, with wooden cages waiting for two biochemically-distracted starry-eyed magpies.
A lot of staring, twas--and the candle-carving principle grinding his two hands together "wishing and hoping"--
-Dante would have written rings around it.
-Shakespeare, 150 gluts about those two nuts.
-Hitler, himself, would have struggled with it.
-Marx would have found the plan plainly "mean".
-Machiavelli would have drooled over the possibilities.
-Cervantes would have dispatched his best embroidered napkin.
-Tolkien would have tossed them into a volcano.
-Faulkner would have related to the very pride of it--yet desired its destruction.
how they were jitterbugging
like clock cuckoos on the screen--
before the average folk who
unceremoniously stared at the screen.
In disillusionment, was it--disenchantment as of such to find themselves doing things like standing in lines with cattle--making survey for the sake of finger fidgeting. Would they even, to two-fingeredly upset the hat on a stranger, simply to put a conjunction in their monotone tale of gross uniformity. Better people, our story contains. Calling themselves in a heat to knot their chords into one, they took them to the sea--those two lighthouses gluttoned on darkness.
