B. Sven Telander


Page Twenty-Three - Poem by B. Sven Telander

Hell Elves, inter-dimensional parasites;
the sisters may stop them—
Betty Wednesday, Shirley Thursday, Freda Friday,
Suzanna Sunday, Sally Saturday, and Missy Monday
upon a creamy buttress nurturing a tutor with slick suture
a dripping faucet, a ticking clock, a beating heart,
clicking metronome swings gazing almost scrying
into the tomorrow mirror as time goes bye,
- “It is not well known that caskets act as prison cells for the dead;
coffins are cages, mausoleums sort of maximum security;
even when ashes are urned after cremation limits spectral mobility.
Also, mass graves provide numerous post-life cluster entanglements.
There are forces at work with agendas that tend with the intangible population.
We are unable to understand their motivations for this.”
The Miracle Lodge and Oasis Place,
Captain Tragedy, The Sham Man, Sergeant Hard,
Dr. Monkey, Uncle Punk, Mr. City, The Inflictor
out at the Corruption Institute and Fort Torture
by Locust Lake managing the Devastation Brigade
and Contagion Legion, while old Edge Gods
watch the witch war with the Forgotten Squadron
and report to the Congress of Intangibles…
“we did it, it is the truth, we did it…we did it because he tried to change the religion.” Our Lard who art a heaving, swallowing be thy game,
stolen, not lost, souls been stolen from sacred enclosures
Inner and outer mobile labia functional as tongues,
sex like a car wreck with ambulance afterglow,
starving for hard iron, smoking melting snow,
waiting for iron & glass or ivory and gold
among mud & reeds in front of the gate,
an entrance monumental. Inverso
Tractor and scrotum pull at a grotesque bazaar
and carnival of that goddamn gun,
camper monkeys on parade,
masturbating with sandpaper,
by orders of an intergalactic proctologist
with an unlikely alias of Balding Gray.
- “By brokering the pain, best as we can, borrowing it and dealing with it from the future, makes the present less terrible, almost tolerable.”
A public restroom, a war zone or both?
Xerxcis Andronicus and Mr. Bastard
met Druncurr the Barbarian and Salvatore Manila…
- “It was a bad case of died from beatings”
snickerdoodles and jugs of piss across hundreds of miles of highways
Right angular gyrus near vestibular cortex of the diaconicon brain,
within corps-de-logis sacristy of head propylene
wattle and daub via flutelgadroon,
a device both chryselephantine and ferro-vitreous
- “Glad you could make it. We’ve been waiting to hurt you.”
Slobb Rhombuss and Pablo Probable
were mind-mapping the Prioress
and discovered as Bernanos did-
-that insomnia was a heightened state of fabulia;
hence the connection with the words of Pre`textat Tach:
- “When the snow melts, where does the whiteness go? ”
Retrotron with Megarot
- “I was there forever. I am there now forever.
This escape you perceive now for me is just
a vague daydream I’m having while
the ongoing imprisonment goes on forever.”

Topic(s) of this poem: absence, death, depression, dream, madness, memory, mythology

Form: Free Verse


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, September 16, 2015



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