horror poetry – Kevin Trent Boswell

When the streets go dark
And the lines go down

Every choice comes
Racing back

Flooding the mind
With harsh judgments of
Prior judgments

Kicking oneself for
Not making better

More solid

Less shortsighted
Decisions

The trumpet in the skull plays
Brass tack blues

But there’s no time for tears

For the Angel still stoops low,
Her finger touches the surface of the sea

The waters rise and boil

And scarlet and ash cover the sky

Speech is all garbled,
Unintelligible noise

And the tower falls

Prayers simplify,
Becoming bread,
Water, candles

A second set of
Eyes and hands,
More bullets

The stranger outside
Does not look
Friendly

And yet, he is
Less dangerous
Than the one
Who does

“Dirt” from Out on the Killing Floor

“Dirt” – prose from Out on the Killing Floor by Kevin Trent Boswell

This piece of prose is from a book of horror poetry. What is horror poetry? Imagine that Stephen King wrote poetry and prose instead of novels and short stories.

This particular piece is about the climate crisis. It’s an imaginary interview with an American farmer in the not so distant future, a dystopian vision of the runaway effects of climate change.

The book is available here: