# 13 Poem by B. Sven Telander

Navigating insane terrain with conjugated mind,
through arcades where light and bone are played
and secrets and murder of secrets grade
in ways that can only see one blind
to futility’s charm of scraping at the rind-
even as further deeper that etheric blade
slices deceptions and truth so self is splayed-
of all that was burned away and left behind.

And no matter how many had conferred
with distortion rolling from every voice that rolled
until a mad saint’s whisper was deterred;
officious number runners chart, feed, and scold-
those who took long fall are now interred
while outside influences watch the tale unfold.