Nurturing Of The Beasts Poem by B. Sven Telander

Unholy rollers,
mighty virus of
the night parade

corrodes a precious
soul at
the infinity booth

ignoring the barkers
from the forgotten
ministries of destiny,

running
a bleak throttle
from the abyss,

a quisling's
vortex of
demonic concubines,

boneworms and eye-
-mites, bloodslugs
and teeth lice.

Cryptic twitches
of secrets kept
for tales to tell,

picking flowers
made of skin,
hanging from the vines of time,

graven images
in repose navigating
the confluence

of raining rocks and burning water
toward those tragic
factories spewing humanity's curses.