Looking At Fashion Poem by Bengt O Björklund

Dark emissaries of brief gatherings
recollect frequently at ceremonial bay,
above all that which never holds worth,
sanctifying the pink salmon’s scales.

A lethal arrow strikes a different key
with all capital punishment there is,
unfolding dark circles before decomposing
with life itself revolving with regrets.

Big death is a true follower of deeds,
of dark hindsight and embellishment,
of crude culture’s natural instinct,
of all meetings final end.

Hold your feeble breast and feed
the notion that not all men
are wrapped in flags or creed,
but rather in their own fashion.