Primary Objective Number One,
Reports indicate,
Has incurred a string of successive failures
To which I attribute the scene before me:
That familiar American whiskey
In a strange Brazilian airport--
11AM.
Fucked (non-fortunately) and
Floored by fluorescent ceilings
As tremendous self pressure seals
Packages and sells
The fourth wall, enclosed.
When your inner actor emerges with
The Carioca dawn in one hand,
Will you use the other to redraft
The Producer's script,
Or become His right hand man
As He strokes It with the left?
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