Tousle the soggy noodle Stir it in the pot It’s no longer stiff and sharp; More inclined to rot
It’s decidedly well-seasoned; Overly so, perhaps More than oregano, salt and pepper; Too many spices, in fistful slaps
Dusty, rotten crumbs, from kitchen floor Grease, tracked in from the streets As well as lint, and various perversions That flaked off bedroom sheets
Along with the turmeric, garlic, and basil, There’s a reduction of sweat and tears The pot overflows with olive oil, And existential fears
The noodle once stood proud and tall, Looking sharp, in a new cardboard box Advertising logos, and bright colors, Like a shiny, gold brick in Fort Knox
Now, it’s soft, it’s overcooked, Full of inconsistent flavors And, the intense heat of the kitchen Hasn’t done it any real favors
The noodle is tired and sickly now, You’ll likely find it tasteless It’s slathered in clashing sauces The ingredient choices, baseless
Still, the noodle is all that is left, And one must attempt to preserve it It’s the only meal or means there is, Whether or not you deserve it
The pot, too, has been banged about; It’s hardly fit for duty It’s been kicked more than a martial artist In the head, and in the booty
It’s scratched, and chipped, soiled and bent, The handle held in place by hope Too look at all the permanent stains, You’d think it was allergic to soap
But this, too, is necessary to keep One can’t simply throw it away Without this beat up utensil, Where would the noodle stay?
This kitchen debacle is a catastrophe Of lowbrow, modern cuisine But, a noodle in a pot is all we’ve got And, I know that you know what I mean
in desiring ourselves, we desire to fancy ourselves as creations of god’s divine light it is true, we are first; shattered and broken vessels of sound, which could not hold light
dance with us, come come, and be joyful be mirthful, be drunken come, and forget we are the new wine the skins, having bursted the host could not drink and, did sorely lament
let us throw shadows in every direction join us in the song which shall never be heard the cheerless dirge of uncelebrated things a melody of madness, fallen short of the word
for, nothing is anything if anything is nothing and, what is our reward if we have not control? so, let us pretend that we are the light, not the darkness which shall never be whole
telling all those who would stop to listen how they, and not we, fell into disrepair how they, and not us, are the lost, lonely devils whose deeds caused the light to weep in despair
let us join in agreement and be not divided details of narrative, we shall conceive and, dividing all things, we fall into slumber allowing ourselves a story, to believe
Florida is where one goes to die, Not to reset, and start again Death waits in orange groves, to strike But, one knows not, where or when
Biding their time, a thousand things, Patiently hoping to kill you dead Gators, lurking in the murky swamp To eat you whole, from toe to head
Hell, they have genuine crocodiles They immigrated; who knows how They came for the delicious buffet that is you To eat as much as time will allow
The brutal sun will bleach your bones And, what’s more, no one will care Florida is not the nicest of places, The grim reaper spends each winter there
If the gators and crocs somehow miss you, In the woods are a great many other beasts Watching, stalking, ready to pounce Eager for tasty human feasts
The black bear is one of them Yes, they’re common in many states But panthers… now, that’s a singular way For Americans to meet untimely fates
Florida is where you go to die All manner of ghoulish demise awaits Everything there wants to end you; It’s the Australia of the United States
And, tiny things, like the brown recluse The black widow, far more ubiquitous And, if you should sit still too long, The fire ants are most ravenous
Wild boar will pierce, cut you to ribbons Their tusks loaded with bacterial goo If you don’t bleed out, then soon enough Disease will be the thing that gets you
Watch where you step, careless human The copperhead, and eastern diamondback Poison’s a thing these efficient vipers Most assuredly do not lack
A curious name for something so deadly, The “kissing bug” spreads a foul parasite It’s perfectly willing and able to kill you And, it knows how to do it right
Just off the coast, in the ocean surf Bull sharks, and deadly box jellyfish Barracudas take quite sizable chunks And, they’ll do it whenever they wish
And, let’s not forget the biggest of all The one whose movie freaked us all out The one and only great white shark He’s there, too, swimming about
Florida is where you go to die, Not where you try to start again Murder is plentiful, comes in all sizes And, you’ll never know where, or when
It’s not just the critters that want you dead The people are willing to rub you out There are drug cartels, and serial killers And, Florida Man is skulking about
Of all the baleful, lethal creatures, Florida Man is among the top three He’s responsible for the lion’s share Of death headlines in the news you see
If the citizens or critters don’t do the job, Of putting an end to you, just for a thrill, If torturous heat doesn’t manage to kill you, I imagine that the governor will
Not a place to slip away peacefully, It will not let you, though you may try Not exactly a storybook ending, Florida is where one one goes to die
Feed the beast in little ways, So in its prison is where it stays This helps you keep the beast in check Or else, your life, it will rule, and wreck
Feed the beast with morsels, tiny Distract it with the bright and shiny You must give it something, however slight Or its strength and rage, you will ignite
A starving beast snarls and raves Doesn’t take orders, never behaves Denied all sustenance, thinks it’s dying At the locks, it picks; cell bars, prying
A daring escape; you’d try it, too If your stomach, you could see right through But a monster fed with… just… enough Stays weak, and doesn’t grow too tough
It waits, content, for the next meager spoon Against its power, you remain immune Feed the beast the smallest part Or, it will rip out, and eat your heart
Wean it on tidbits, the worst parts of you Sample-size snacks of indulgent taboo Otherwise, the creature… well, it just may Take hold of your deeds, the words you say
You see, each of us, every single one Is a no-good, worthless son-of-a-gun Anyone who says different is lying to you Or perhaps, to themselves, as so many do
We’re horrible things, down, deep in the core, With lusts for lying, theft, and gore Incestuous, selfish, conniving creeps In daylight, our true nature hides, and sleeps
We’re bullies, crooks; we cheat on our taxes We’d gladly chop up our neighbors with axes That is, if we thought we wouldn’t take a fall But, knowing we will, we don’t try at all
If not for society, we’d be twice as mean, Three times as lazy, rude, and obscene; Running over each other, no second thought Breaking and taking what others have bought
These horrid perversions reside down low In the parts where most are too afraid to go But, the thirst is still there; we cannot escape Our secret desires for pillage, and rape
All that a civilized person can do Is to keep it all chained, not let it get through Most try to ignore it, they try really hard Whistling nervously through the graveyard
These are the ones you can’t really trust; Can’t face their demons, although they must Any part of you that’s even a little bit dark, Is a mirror reflection of themselves, a spark
That spark ignites within them a fury Appointing themselves both judge and jury, Punish you, for guilty feelings of their own Cravings they cannot shake from their bones
Afraid of their shadows, they cast them on you A scapegoat for things that they’d like to do Unable to admit they’d do it, if they could Admit to your urges, they’ll say you’re no good
They tried to starve their monsters to death Their monsters took over, stole their breath Becoming beasts; the beasts having won, Police not themselves, but instead, everyone
Others, they feed their phantom too much So close to the ghoul, it can reach out and touch The fiend strangles, once it takes hold Turning them cruel, heartless, and cold
So, take the advice, and stay to the middle Don’t run from the Devil, or play second fiddle Seduce your succubus, incubus, or imp Trick it, trap it, keep it weak, and limp
Feed the dark beast your unwanted scraps; To prevent you from falling into its traps Give it just enough, so that it doesn’t try To feed off of you, to make you its supply
Magus72 on Patreon – the music, poetry, and madness of Kevin Trent Boswell
Coming Soon
A new album from Trent Boswell, Area 25
Coming Soon – Area 25 -new music from Trent Boswell
Cover art by the elusive Mr. Dorian Strange.
Area 25 – a witch’s brew; 12 original pieces of rock and roll, hard rock, and funk. It’s a psychedelic concoction of madness, lifted from the purse of Venus, pilfered from the wallet of Apollo, and heisted from Jupiter’s garage.
It will be available on all the major streaming services, like Apple Music, Deezer, Amazon Music, Spotify, YouTube Music, and many more.
Kevin Trent Boswell 