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
©2026 Kevin Trent Boswell
From the book Time for Nothing – Poetry, Prose, and Song Lyrics by Kevin Trent Boswell, published in 2022.
