Belphegor Poem by B. Sven Telander

Sly monstrosities curving through mind;
dormant coiling, bloodless, soul blind,
complex smatterings refuse ease of expression
possibilities hammered, clocked, buried;
by a soilsmith of indecision and sloth
joining the union of finger tappers of Hell,
ubiquitous dead wood of the psyche
in deceptive guises of choice and function
instruments of catharsis, sick imaginary dreams
less than the blade of flame in a candle’s death,
the fire’s last claw struggles to grip
the bronze rim of the holder
flung with psychic lucidity in a smear
against a wall, gripped by the ankles,
mouth caught on a hook,
a manic tug, stretched, elongated,
rubberband splatter landing,
talking to the candles again,
small breath prompt an answer
via a twitch of flame
born of childwind.
A transtheological polestar,
a topological form requiring
an elusive microsurgery
in the idios cosmos,
evading the logic loop;
driving the car slowly
around a circular roadway
framed by brownstones
with residents peering out
from windows, some hold cameras,
fixed on her body
dead on the sidewalk
in front of her car:
prone individuation, no communion
from the eyes of group mind
occluding numinous divinity
less than a vision of the measureless void.
Then, after the trio had been beheaded
and their bodies burned,
Earl and his retarded son went for coffee.