Mortality, box-cutter in hand, conquers all,
A cockpit-crasher, terminating our dazed pilots,
Freezing the vessel's forward mandate. … Does that senior
Chef taking bread from ovens in his vintage kitchen
Lofted among the clouds, detect invisible
Omens in the autumn light?—a bass-clef hum,
Endtime launched on its unyielding slalom, twin
Convergence that will call for shutdown once our client,
The kamikaze who refused to book a table,
Shows up to napalm celebration's ever-afters.
Befriending soul, when lethal smoke begins to rush
From the broken towers' crematory, will we hang back
In burning topicality? No, sings the window.
Hold hands, eyes meeting as they never have before.
Today your tandem launches out on visionary
Sunlight, to cast its lot with a world without end—
One extra encore for a pair upheld in zero
Gravity, anti-Lucifers, twin morning stars,
United Symbol here that nothing puts asunder,
Love's company unlost so long as love proves life.
TODAY IN SLATE
The Irritating Confidante
John Dickerson on Ben Bradlee’s fascinating relationship with John F. Kennedy.
My Father Invented Social Networking at a Girls’ Reform School in the 1930s
Renée Zellweger’s New Face Is Too Real
Sleater-Kinney Was Once America’s Best Rock Band
Can it be again?
The All The President’s Men Scene That Captured Ben Bradlee
Is It Better to Be a Hero Like Batman?
Or an altruist like Bruce Wayne?
Driving in Circles
The autonomous Google car may never actually happen.