weighted dice spilling from broken jaws
tainted allegories and
flawless renderings of the invisible
dry beans pour out of sacks
onto tables of diamond and ivory
an abacus of emeralds,
strung on strands of horsehair
a tiny pewter coin sits
atop a scale of solid silver
resting on a column of solid gold
pristine smudges of chocolate
on acrylic peanut butter tapestries
buckets full of comets kicked over
and showers of sparks
falling on the floor
it’s enough to fill
the silos of the universe
top to bottom
but is it enough?
each individual grain of sand
grates against another;
all are dutifully counted
the hourglass is emptied
of all its inexorable empires
excuses are forged from breath,
and hammered into the sacred elixir
of nothingness
there is no motion
in this river’s torrent
the asphalt streets stole it all,
sold it to capricious eels
who swim in desperate candlelight
germinating helixes
bristling thorn vines
funneling promising poisons
into the infant mouths
of ageless behemoths
who rule small places
culmination is the beginning
of the termination of endings
and the siphoning off
of all the intermittent middle bits,
the ones that,
as an afterthought,
we tacked onto the ends
in carefully coordinated haste
the endeavor,
doomed from the outset
thank goodness
we never embarked upon the journey
and that we saw it through
all the way to the end
we can scarcely contain ourselves
from raving about
what raucous ecstatic bliss
it was, from the pistol start
to the razored end
steal the serpent’s fangs
replace its venom
with politesse
and useless smalltalk
watch giddily
as it pathetically
gnaws and gums
unproductively at its prey
we dare not speak
of our elusive mysteries,
not to the droll, sour, uninitiated brood,
lest they discover our secret formula
of beginning in the middle
and ending at the front part
of the second third half
of each hind quarter,
but only on Thursdays,
except on leap years of an august May
the excitement would surely
be too much for their frail constitutions,
and over dead, they would drop down,
into new incarnations
of ceaseless wonder
and when, if so,
would any of it
ever cease?
take care,
that none of this ever occurs,
except for those precious few times
that it unavoidably does not
dial back
the wilting clock
and try not to
try again
©2024 Kevin Trent Boswell
Kevin Trent Boswell 