poem by Bengt O Björklund

I am not a silent poet

down by the pick pocket market again
delivering free contact and smiles
reloading day’s opportunity
amongst the lost and the slow dyeing

redemption is not an option here
where salty winds carry dead women
on their broken shoulders
there’s a tilt towards the distant sea

rich men rumble with binoculars
fastened to their wallets
there’s no magic carpet for the poor
there’s no such thing

ripped and wired to the end
clocked and seeded
I do remember the beginning
before the I bubble burst

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