Mistake Poem by B. Sven Telander
Mistake
In the carcass of the circus
there lay an unburned page
appointing and anointing
another mage upon a stage.
Desperate for a respite on
trestle made of bone, a tyro
with a gyro was spinning
a begin, wrestling with the
shadows amongst the ghosts
of stone, lying like a liar
piling hidden sins;
running from the fate
that grips us all too soon,
exit planet's nectar for
seasons past the moon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 6:54:57 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
