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⠀
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
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
Author’s Note: Venus in Scorpio is the title of this piece because that is the current position of Venus (as of this writing, Sept 22, 2026). The sign of Scorpio is intense astrological territory for Venus, the Goddess of Love.
However, in my own birth chart, I have a lovely, nurturing Venus in Cancer. And I assure you, dear reader, that I am perfectly harmless.
cloud shake supple form dew lands on misty flower wrinkles in the wind, fall under iron hot press rolls up over the side walnut stretch for top-shelf stuff reaching compromise with ease turn slow corners in empty fields fuss about in meadows of stars bring soft, rolling machines to halt sparkling drops on screens of vivid color artist hangs entropy on an invisible wall a nail and suspension by a string of atoms and galaxies, galaxies tumble each into mixing bowl of temporal whims, yesterday’s revisions; tomorrow’s schedules beat the terrain with a stick until it whimpers and submits consenting to its new ruler that wand of trickling rain pounds hard against a pulpit of earthy laughter notion falls still serenity takes its stand; refusing all other voices, since no other offers as much
he tossed back his shoulders ⠀ and shook angry fists at the insistence of the night ⠀ which washed over him ⠀ in a baptismal shower⠀
awakening cynicism⠀ dripping tortured postulations of fate ⠀ over all he had known ⠀ and could afford to call indifference ⠀ or assimilation of tranquility⠀
until the guardians of morning ⠀ withdrew rapiers of delirium ⠀ true to the spirit of revelation ⠀ and thrust the seed of salvation ⠀ into the sufferer’s soul⠀
delivering him ⠀ unto the doorstep ⠀ of the new day ⠀ with eyes afire, ⠀ longing to chase ⠀ the sun
“sleepless” from the book remission by Kevin Trent Boswell, available on Amazon.
remission by Kevin Trent Boswell
Author’s Note 1:
I wrote this piece in my twenties. I’ve struggled with insomnia since I was about eighteen. In my thirties, it became easier because I can manage it with medication.⠀
I tried all that sleep-hygiene nonsense. I did it correctly, did all of it, and did it for extended periods to let my circadian rhythms adjust. None of it helped. Obviously, things like setting a timer for bed and then turning things off help, but that doesn’t mean you will fall asleep.⠀
If anyone reading this struggles with serious insomnia, don’t allow anyone to gaslight you into thinking you’re doing something wrong. Many people will only get significant relief through medication, especially if you have PTSD.⠀
The human brain is a mysterious beast that we don’t fully understand, and the unconscious mind processes every single piece of sensory input before the information reaches the higher reasoning levels of the prefrontal cortex.
Author’s Note 2:
Lately, I’ve been using ChatGPT for images, only because it’s faster than searching through a lot of stock photos.
However, I DO NOT use AI in my writing. ⠀
There are only two exceptions. One is a piece in my book Not Long for This World, in which I asked AI to explain the dangers of AI. That’s a no-brainer.
The other is that I frequently run a piece through Grammarly to check for spelling errors, and because I’m addicted to commas, semicolons, and em dashes. ⠀ ⠀ I’m a practicing punctuation addict, choosing to focus more on a harm reduction approach rather than strict abstinence. Life is short, party hard.
