I.
Stumbling as we tumble down
From the decks above
Let’s spill some fledgling blood
On this virgin ground
Consecrate this sacred land
With sweet, sugary death
Dried up vestige of arterial lineage,
Like blackstrap molasses
A batch of fattening confections
In entropy’s galley
The host will have their way
The menu is set;
No substitutions
II.
Everything has lost its flavor
All of the dialogue and costumes
Receding into the background,
Lost amid aimless clamoring
For the awareness of others
A thousand colors
And two sizes
Seduced by the sidewalk,
Let us earn our wings,
And fly
The problem is clear
So, clear the table
Table the discussion
Discuss a potential agreement
Agree to the terms
Terminate the problem
The surgeon calls out sick
The sickness calls out
For a bone saw, scalpel, retractor,
And suction
Triage is a red carpet buffet
Of wide-eyed inspiration
For a man with no appetite,
You certainly are hungry
This one isn’t going to make it;
That frame will collapse
As soon as boots hit the floor
You gonna eat that?
It’s just going to spoil if you don’t;
These things have no shelf life
There is no point to any of it, anyway
So much more prudent
Than all this senseless striving
Everyone knows
It is not the guest
Who decides
What’s for supper
The table is already set…
Sit down and eat
Your loss
III.
Spill some for yourself
While you have the chance
Freshen your gunpowder
Powder your nose
Sanctify this unholy,
Godless parcel of dirt
With a little spritz
Of sweet annihilation
©2024 Kevin Trent Boswell
Kevin Trent Boswell 