Don’t worry, you will love no part of it;
It’s certain to please, someone, somewhere
Possibly and definitely, maybe
No one who isn’t everyone, but is
Enter the theater of the absurd
And words… did I mention…
There is words; there are many word
A poem, a bit of a slight,
A sleight of hand, poetic
Stream-of-consciousness to commence
Leaning into the background
A handy little bit of conscience, handed
Down onto the foreground and landed
And not the slightest bit of it
Made any sense,
Not one single mode or section
Reason completely escaping detection
And hence,
Thoroughly not the throughout…
It’s good
And it’s okay if you realize that it isn’t
Okay to be good at detecting
That it is, but only when you know
That it might be
Peek behind the floor
There’s nothing under the door
And someone is beside the rug,
Shrugging at the sound of the wall
And laughing at all the empty windows
We might have just enough time
To do everything
With the rest of the nothing
No one needs an excuse to be a poem
A poem is an utterly meaningless,
Ridiculous thing,
And everyone has
Every bit as much right
To be one
As I do
©2024 Kevin Trent Boswell
Kevin Trent Boswell 