Kevin Trent Boswell

track

I suppose something
can be made of it,
all the contradictory motions

but I know not what

the signs and signals
all give opposite indications
of its intentions

the chaotic trail leads
in impossible directions,
as if the thing was not one,
but several

but I have laid eyes upon it

I am certain that
it is a single,
beautiful
thing

a comely, smiling ghost

scattering, as would ⠀
a flock of startled birds

a most mysterious
and majestic
creature she is

flummoxed

how does one pursue
an unpredictable sprite?

toothpicks made from
dug-up coffins

a pop-up book
of sigils and talismans

a revolving mail slot
between the worlds

castigated pin cushions
weeping in the field

an invisible shelter
for black cats and roosters

rusty iron nails
bent ninety degrees

railroad spikes driven
into paper and meat

it’s a pleasure doing business with you,
antagonistic adversary

allow me to wipe the dust
into your eyes

if one was truly
inclined
to love

one would,
happily,
and without restraint

but here—conditions,
jaundice,
patina

a sutra, a dervish,
a Buddha
you ain’t

I mourn the loss
Of who I thought I knew
But as it turns out,
I do not miss you

I grieve for the person
You pretended to be
It helps to remember
You never loved me

somehow,
it’s even uglier
on the inside

the surprises,
intermittent,
perplexing

it must be a
challenge
to hide

so much,
for so long,
and so vexing

dwindle and fade,
no satisfaction here
purpose of the ire,
in the open, now clear

garnering support,
an ethos, a ruse,
self-righteous zealot
choose and abuse

don’t need a diagnosis
to tell you to duck;
it walks, and it quacks,
underhand fuck

watch, but do nothing
feign blindness, withdraw
could help, but won’t
the soul—coup d’état

in silence, compliance,
just keep on going,
not twisting the knife,
but watching, and knowing

hardly deniable,
accessory to the fact
encircle the target
enter foul pact

a tribe may be strong,
yet, poisoned in the heart
each member chooses
if they will take part

a bias is a bias,
and roses have fangs
hatred is hatred,
and hate runs in gangs