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.

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