Youthful Folly Poem by Bengt O Björklund

Speed is all one man’s view can reckon with
in times of a continuous aftermath.

A wild offspring in unholy confusion
with seraphs and other winged illusions
unfurl its youthful uncertainties
in days without further ado.

Must this precious focus we name “our days”
always be caught in puzzled mid sentence
just before the implied intent breaks?

Drop the leaded invoice at the gate,
hope there will be no further debacle
at the closing of the night.