Kevin Trent Boswell

it must seem strange

can’t possibly
know why

and it must seem
strange

strange angling
on the ether

might feel awkward,
perhaps delightful
invasive, and yet, somehow,
respectful of boundaries,
that small sea of unknowns
between here and there

daring, perhaps dangerous
flattering, frightening

enthralling, enchanting
honest, obscene

charming, careless
both selfish and kind

unwanted, welcomed
familiar, unknown

the truth
of the matter
is that I don’t know,
either

all I know is that, now,
I try not to look
at the phone

or think about
the calendar

or folded paper napkins,
as strange as that sounds

when my long hair
snags on something,
I hear a shaky voice,
quietly apologizing

something smooth,
soft, and sweet,
was floating above me
comfortable, close
for a moment
of days

Found myself
wanting
the roles
reversed

I want to hover,
and to teach,
ask the questions,
have the power to open
and give the instructions

it’s harder now
to eat my ice cream
in peace

I grab the remote
and hit rewind

I went somewhere else
in my head,
about ten minutes away,
ten thousand miles

if nothing ever comes
of these feverish dreams,
then hopefully the dream
is at least pleased
it was dreamt

the light in the bathroom
is bright
as I get ready for bed

brushing my teeth,
the thought
is still
there

keep moving

crack the little brain / into the dusty bowl / a freeze-dried / packet of soup

crack the little brain
into the dusty bowl⠀

a freeze-dried
packet of soup⠀

that hoping,
in its meager
means, and
mighty thirst⠀

self might
somehow
sustain
its only
own-ness⠀

in a type of
good and forward
trajectory⠀

movement,
a motion,
positive
perpetual,
and politely
theoretical⠀

glimpse
through the
magnifying
glass⠀

death’s suddenly
stopping⠀

in tomorrow’s
tiny
headlines⠀

fine print
promises,
blinding
bland bankers,
who barter
for nothing
and trade
in excuses⠀

it covers nil,
this clause of
exclusion
and escape⠀

haughty,
the strange joy
of tomorrow
and its bright trumpeters
of celebration⠀

jump the rifle
and leap over
the lead
if you can⠀

little can
of wormy worms
you’ve yet to meet
the requirements,
terms⠀

terrible
and tall
as they are⠀

still,
slurp some
desperate necessities
from the
ever-thinning spoon,
and seek solace
in that spice
of quiet space⠀

the train is
pulling in;
tickets all
collected⠀

well-accustomed
each accounted for
nary a crumb
tumbles
down the lengthy table
and past
the waiting
tongue⠀

you’ll see, soon
the self
and salty,
sundry wonders
of possibly pausing
for pondering⠀

beneath the orange,
parasol anchor,
fluttering all those⠀

pale butterflies
in its rainbow wake⠀

streaming
the black and white footage
of nature’s naughty newsreels
and turning back again,
to greedily collect
the scraps⠀

paste them all into a
claustrophobic collage⠀

and guessing that
it’s warmth might,
by its cozy closeness
cram itself
into the clown car⠀

get the
lazy getter
going⠀

once
and we will,
again

From the book Time for Nothing – Poetry, Prose, and Song Lyrics by Kevin Trent Boswell, published in 2022.

Time for Nothing-poetry by Kevin Trent Boswell — Time for Nothing – poetry, prose, and song lyrics by Kevin Trent Boswell

avoid the thing

danger
lies
in its
direction⠀

avoid
the peril
by wandering
around⠀

avoid the every
thing⠀

going
around,⠀

wandering

From the book in the current by Kevin Trent Boswell

Koan

Existence is not difficult for those who make no discriminations.⠀

—Zen Koan⠀

Everything in life is dangerous. What’s the point of being afraid?⠀

—some drunk guy at the bar who thought he had scared me away with his rambling but I really just needed to piss

The world no longer frightens me. I’m not scared anymore. It just disappoints me. Itallrunstogether likewetpaintonaparkbench onahotsummersday and I just don’t want to be here anymore.⠀

—what I would have said to my friend, had I not been so sure that it would have frightened him⠀

What’s your name? You’re very pretty.⠀

—what I said to the girl on the street with the small dog⠀

Oh, thanks. Bye.⠀

—what she said as she hurried away⠀

When you can do nothing, what can you do?

—Zen Koan

From the book on the page by Kevin Trent Boswell

Hand Of Fire, Hand Of Water

I.

hand of death
abacus of unlearning
each thin bone
each pale, ivory finger
slides
a bead of sweat⠀
across the face of time⠀

and you, fair seamstress,
every stitch undoes the last⠀

ornaments hang prettily
from the turnstiles,
distracting pedestrians
away from
important negotiations⠀

II.

hand of the strong
rings and signets of distinction
crests of valor, copious decorations
from cabinet members and kings
high officers, ambassadors of
salient authorities⠀

night grinds no pathways in your forehead
sunrise lays no price upon your crown⠀

your mouth greets each meal with hope,
expects it to charge you
with command of your faculties⠀

the crone does not dazzle you,
nor hold your children for ransom⠀

III.

hand of the child
you hold all knowledge of the Tao
in your small, curled palm
your eyes roll like Saturn and
Sundays mean nothing from Thursdays⠀

You alone know that our pebble throne
shoots itself around the sun
at thirty miles a minute⠀

you, and no other,
can comprehend the spectacle of the
bumblebee⠀

you grow backwards
strange little sage
choosing to count your toes
in your mouth
a setting of ornate jewels
scroll of learning
you erase one thing each day
throw away one dream
each night⠀

hagfish demon birds peck at your eyes
you are impervious to their attacks
since you tell yourself⠀
that you do not see them
and you are still able to believe
what you say
to yourself

questions fall from the trees
and you crawl over them
unconcerned
until tomorrow

Author’s Note: This is one of my favorite poems I’ve ever written.

From the book Liber ex Liberi – The Book of Children by Kevin Trent Boswell

Nighttime

Trouble in the nighttime fell
Upon the too wakeful brow
Which ought to sleep⠀

Coins cast in tainted well
Uncertainty of where and how
Enough to cause anyone to weep⠀

Pitching gold piece of its own, ⠀
Came an angel of repose and rest ⠀
With the curious question whispered quiet⠀

Myriad things, all unknown
How is it that you’re certain you’ll fail the test?⠀
Without a shred of doubt, that might deny it?
⠀
Of course, no good answer was there for this
And searching, a mind grew sore and tired
Eyes heavy, in downward creep⠀

The angel placed a soft, loving kiss ⠀
Upon empty head, thoughts all expired ⠀
Drifting peacefully now into the deep

From the book remission by Kevin Trent Boswell

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