A cargo plane, loaded with white rabbits, got lost in a heavenly
storm and landed on the moon, the pilot declared himself king.
The second pilot would have none of it, slew the pilot, declared
a republic, with him as president, and freed the rabbits.
When all the little bottles of booze planes carry for hospitality,
were empty, the president got depressed and threw himself;
off the moon, was sucked up into a black hole and woke up on
the Australian outback and got a job, a camel rider with an all
consuming hatred for airline pilots. The moon rabbits, however,
thrived lived on nourishing dust and moon dew. But slowly they
changed appearance and became moonbeams that lit up parks
summer nights and made lovers swoon. A cynic may say they
became inconsequent spectres, useless as a poem written for
pleasure and lacking in moral judiciousness.
