When Wisdom takes to the floor, everyone else
stops. It's a music no one else can keep up with.
Hands flailing, even the drummer stops : he's a brash
kid about six foot four, but this is too big for him. All
pounding cymbals of a mariachi death, the likes never
seen here before. More like on some sacrificing stone
on a mountainside in Peru, where a statue of a Christ
is there just for kicks. When Wisdom takes the floor,
everyone knows blood flows.
A soft-sided aeroplane comes sliding in; in quiet,
no noise and no meaning either. Someone gets off
in a long coat and a tophat. No words are spoken.
Everyone is waiting to see who will be selected.
Selected? For a death like this? Surely you jest.
The point is - somehow - the person chosen will
have been found to be the one who's been leading
the most perfect life among all those present.
What a prize for that winner - for sure.