Crimson Lady And The Black Rocket Angel Poem by B. Sven Telander

The floating women of the Estantalehi Corporation, hovering at dusk
near a small house in a lush treeful place…

A lifetime of delusion consumes the Crimson Lady,
slender lass in a dark crack in Universe City;
her demon is just an angel who had a bad day.
Psycho-spheres may merge perversions into mutual pleasures;
the times those two shared, treasured adventures, on their adored voyage.
What was it when it was where who did?

Dr. Dinosoar:
enhanceable gross overtures and the complexity dance
of mental chess and imagining creationistic systematics,
octopus underlings, crocodile minions, lapping tactics cradle;
Giant spider riders of Hylbryn:
provided introductions, alliances with
the Occasional Men and the Wander Women:
the secret doors across the cities that hid the hundreds of autos
the elevator, the basement, the projector, vast playboard.

Her Black Rocket Angel, a long gone combustion farewell;
starforce reckoning blackest hole beckoning, quantum galaxy
meltdown, jugband extravaganza jamboree;
the visciousness of the deathwishes;
wood worms dine on astral mind, dire signifiers
meet those tongues of eager fire.

The believers all leave.
A con man sets sail,
gaining cash and thralls;
babble on lost papers trails.
The two have gone not a happy day when
the airborne stalkers made a surprise move,
nurturing corruption and mistrust between.
Madame Amazinger, the Thrice Damned, says:
“Wash behind your eyes. For God we lust.”

Doppelgangers near the memory garage,
a panoramic display fractal blossoming resplendent décor,
the mental impediment to un-encumbered
expansive creative expression,
glowering over the growing exponential collection of divergences,
9 billion fluxing parallels [cubed] interlacing and re-configuring,
Yet the Firm in control denies the two.