Morning At The Favela Poem by Bengt O Björklund
Morning At The Favela
Vodka breakfast saw the sun
long before the bay’s wild water
twinkled in the long hot wind
rolling thin salt up the hill.
Cocained for days I suddenly fell
into numerous conscious descents.
Down unwired warm scrutiny
into a much softer light.
Rough edges tend to blend
with the common view,
with each transparent distilled drop
on its speedy passage.
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4/16/2024 4:27:54 AM # 1.0.0.1119
