# 11 Poem by B. Sven Telander

Again, a boring fall, and the flesh of memory caress-
spinning maelstrom in a face toward oblivion’s grin
with tooth of indecision and tongue of duress
spoken in winter’s icy bliss, grooming personal sin
delivered during petty ripples of time on numinous graph-
innocent slumber blunders through tender threats unfolding
into a simple glitter pit christening dream mist with a laugh;
eager slender bets placed on the ghosts of truth holding
court over gray blizzard blowing through acres of soul sublet
at bargain prices; drifting on lifts, a gifted stone is hurled,
rushing through thrush of decay and feasts to forget;
another bent gazelle trapped in old sludge of the world,
locked into framed basement of self painting a lost hue
and screaming secrets from rooftops for nothing else to do.