The Shambling Darkness Project

Svenska, the Swedish Cockroach

I’m telling you not everything is as Swedish

As the corner stone’s rough accent. Enmeshed

With a barbiturate of coal, the knife wielder

Sheds barley into political leaflets and then,

And then the children pull a harder oar, digit

All string lines in and out of Scand-O frontal

Lobes like lovers stacking bricks on strings

Of high nosed tones, those hairs, I’m telling

You of stacking and pronouncement so you

Can not say you were not there, excusing

Bails and crosshairs from that rich design

Much admired in your coffee maker’s lux

Uriant position overseeing the cabinetry

And the inferior end tables who bow mock

Supplications to this throw pillow’s clack

Beading hairstyle. Listen well, subvert

A stony presence, there a roach imitates

The renter’s pose, there a mouse judges with

A turd and every carpet fiber reels beneath

The weight of century’s worth of mites

Upon mites generating political organizations

Out of the residue of your skin, foliate

To follicle to the bonnet dream light’s neon.

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