love – Page 3 – Kevin Trent Boswell

Silence is Aluminum

They say it’s gold, but
I don’t actually own much gold

I do, however, have many things
That are made out of aluminum

Most of my furniture is aluminum frame,
The bookshelves, front of the refrigerator,
The handles of my cooking utensils

I have a lot of silence

Sure, I watch movies and YouTube videos
I read, listen to music, have friends over

But I have a lot of silence

Why? Because it’s easier

It’s easier than dealing with people
People who think it’s cool to be rude
People with impossible standards,
Standards that everyone is supposed to
Live up to… except them

It’s much easier than trying to date,
Only to be used for food,
Validation of her ego, then ghosted, and
Offered up as an unwilling sacrifice for
TikTok rage content and lies told over
Spilled tea

All because I refused to be a wet doormat,
And that… THAT makes me a monster

But in my aluminum Fortress of Solitude,
No one expects me to be a mind reader

The only mind I need to read is mine
And I can do that quietly,
Without anyone yelling at me,
Nagging me, belittling me in public,
Belittling me in private, or
Giving me backhanded compliments

Aluminum doesn’t weaponize
The things I say to it in confidence

Al, atomic number 13
Doesn’t self-sabotage just because
It felt unworthy of being mine

Aluminum is strong
It doesn’t corrode

It’s electrically conductive,
So, you might even say
It has a sort of emotional intelligence

It is both willing and able to move signals
From Point A to Point B,
Instead of secretly harboring resentment
For months or years

Aluminum doesn’t send mixed signals

Aluminum is non-magnetic
So, it doesn’t let strangers come in
And use it when I’m at work

It doesn’t blame me
Because I was too busy working
To give it the constant, whirlwind of
Narcissistic attention that it craved

It’s recyclable, so you could say that,
Instead of blaming you
For its own feelings of emptiness,
It has the capacity to learn and
Change its shape

It’s adaptable

Aluminum can’t exactly grow,
But it provides a stable base for growth

I have living plants sitting on
My aluminum desk by the window

Aluminum is cold, but
I can heat it up very quickly

And it cools down quickly, too;
It doesn’t hold on things

So, I don’t get surprise burns,
Thinking, “Surely it must have
“Cooled off by now.”

Aluminum is so reliable and lightweight
That they use it in the stuff they
Launch humans into space with

It doesn’t collapse and give in
At the first signs of stress

If the aluminum items in my place
Should break, then I know that
I was the problem

If I was the problem, then ⠀
I can fix the problem⠀⠀

With aluminum, ⠀
I don’t have to wait ⠀
For an iron leopard ⠀
To change its rusty spots

If my things are broken, then I obviously
Put too much stress on them,
I put too much weight on them,
Or I moved them back and forth too much

I can’t remember the last time
Something broke around here

But if it did, there’s a certain peace
In knowing whose fault it was,
Knowing that there’s some kind of a
Genuine lesson, something I can learn,
So it simply doesn’t happen again

The same cannot be said
For the outside world
With all of its fickle children

Aluminum is not addicted to chaos

Aluminum is not addicted to dopamine

If something breaks,
There’s no existential angst,
No sitting and wondering,
“Maybe if I had said this? Or done that?
“Or if I hadn’t done that other thing?”

Aluminum is a kind, loving 7

It’s not a 4 ounce hunk of entitled lead
That swears it’s 10 ounces of gold

It’s not 9 ounces of copper
That hates itself and truly believes
It’s only 3 ounces of mercury

Aluminum foil is spread thin every day,
But it doesn’t complain

It’s a team player

It doesn’t have constant, never-ending
Emotional outbursts that
I’m not even allowed to try to help solve

It doesn’t say the opposite of what it means

It doesn’t scream,
“Stop looking at me! Stop talking to me!⠀
“What are you, some kind of creep?!”⠀

It doesn’t scream,
“Oh, my god! Why won’t you look at me?!
“Why won’t you talk to me?! Grow a pair!
“What are you, gay?!”

Instead, it smiles and says,
“I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.
“Let’s cook dinner together. Then, we’ll
“Lie in bed, cuddle, and watch our show.”

Silence is solid, reliable,
Sturdy, trustworthy
Aluminum

It’s cheap, easy to manufacture,
Easy to maintain

Rather than blame me
For not being able to afford diamonds,
Gold, silver, mahogany, or marble,
Aluminum says, “We got this, babe.
“We don’t need anything but each other.”

Empires are built on aluminum

Aluminum is loyal

It doesn’t walk away for selfish,
Trivial reasons

Aluminum is helpful and nurturing

It quietly says, “Let me take your coat.
“Here, set your things down and rest.
“Lie down on me and let me soothe you.”

It doesn’t pout;
It’s just patiently, contentedly silent

It doesn’t compete with me
Or bait me into arguments
Or wait until I’m feeling proud of myself,
To insert the perfectly-timed,
Most embarrassing and devastating
Passive-aggressive jab
To take all the air out of my balloon

Aluminum says, “Relax. Breathe.
“You’re safe here with me.”

I don’t want anyone
To bring me a table

I already have
A perfectly good aluminum table

All I might ever need is for someone to
Bring something to my table

Something like, oh, I don’t know,
Maybe… good conversation, love,
Emotional support, kindness, respect,
Some graceful feminine energy,
Manners, a hot meal, a cheerleader spirit?

Nah, nobody hears that “crazy talk”

It’s way too loud out there
In the asphalt jungle
With all the steel girders and
Glass ceilings

But it’s nice and quiet in here

Sitting in aluminum silence is preferable
To allowing cruel people into my domain,
People who say horrendous things
That offend, wound the ego, and
Make you ask yourself, “What would
“Possess a person to believe this is
“How you should treat others?”

People who respond with a dismissive,
“You’re too sensitive.”

Rather than,
“I’m such an awful, mean-spirited toddler
“That my terrible behavior shocked you.”

I’d rather lie on my comfortable mattress,
On the aluminum bed frame,
And watch movies, or read, or sit in a

Peaceful

Aluminum

Silence

Half

No point in trying, we see the impossible
Eighty percent are chopped in two
Everything we ever did was all wrong
Nothing that we were taught was true

It’s no use to refine or reach out
Nothing is left in the bin to sort
We can’t be two halves of a whole
The ball is always dragged into court

Years of digging, chasing the veins
To find the heart, a center, a core
But emptiness only weaves and bobs
Ducks out and fucks off to explore

Half of us cut in half by the clock
Cold butcher knife calendar cleave
Constantly screaming we’re wrong
We load, we chamber, and leave

Downstream

The merciful tyrant
Unwittingly enslaves himself
Head chained to a stone,
A fraction of an inch
Above the grinding wheel

Sweat pours off the brow,
Enough to fill an empty chalice,
The kind of cup that one might
Craft by hand, and set apart
Solely for use in special feasts,
Feasts that never took place
Except in the mind

A mind that now rots
Inside a bone cell,
Cuffed by steel bands
To a stone tablet,
Where it struggles to
Hold itself up,
Away from the wheel,
Less than a tired wink of sleep
Below

How it all occurred is
A promethean comedy of errors

An artificial notion became planning;
Plans inched stealthily forward,
Advancing toward schemes,
Where the schemes beget a clusterfuck,
And the clusterfuck exploded
Into a bucket of shit and
A bathtub of tears

I have wasted the infinite scream

That spectacular spectacle
Of standing above the relenting chasm,
In the assumption of a god form
And a triumphant rush of endorphins

Being full of such arrogance
As to declare oneself a great thing

It is but the backsplash
Of crashing waves,
The backdraft of a conflagration,
The hammer claw that slips carelessly
Off of the head of the nail, and
Slaps back hard into the face of
The one who holds the hammer,
The swirlies of high school bullies

Proverbial pissing
Into a primordial storm

Hubris, personified

The Devil laughs hardest
At we mortals
Who merely dabble
In part time blasphemy

He is quick to show us
Who invented the game,
And who we should call “El Jefe”

His pool cue is the stolen staff of Moses

He chalks it with dust
From the tombs of martyrs

He runs the table every time,
Right from the break

Casually leans back and smiles,
Lights a cigarette, and
Does his best Marlon Brando,

“Rack ‘em up, boys. Double or nothin’.”

Cut It Out

Cut it out of the sternum
And place it on the altar

I no longer want it,
This bitter heart
In my mouth

A locked chest full of feathers,
Little lockets and silvery trinkets,
Walking sticks and reeds of bamboo,
Straps of leather and heavy chains,
Strange wires and clockworks,
Flowers of unusual, grand, noble gestures,
The teeth of pirates, the entrails of kings,
And the bones of beached sharks,
Now too frail to feed

The carpet needed
A little splash
Of red, anyway

You know, just a little something extra
To accent the curtains

The dusk and the music box
Both wait in the corner
To spit fire and agony
Into the flesh of the evening

Surrender to the waves

The waves were always wiser

They always kept moving,
Never weighing themselves down

Fight off all of those
Ridiculous impulses,
Provocateur pushes
To the edge of another,
Another one of those nothings,
Exactly like all the ones
That come night after night

Resist the pulse,
The catalyst incentives
To do yet more stupid things,
Stupid things like breathing

Sew this dumb mouth shut
With a spool of black thread
Stolen from the undertaker’s
Trench coat pocket

Do it before all of those sounds
Escape

All those sweet, garbled mysteries
That fell into it while I was drunk
On her flesh

And still foolish enough
To believe I was alive

Capture them in stitches
With the Devil’s dried-up veins
And a needle of blackthorn

Line the casket with
Old newspapers

And line the birdcage
With red silk

Pour me a bowl of stone gravel
And a ladleful of sour milk

Plug my ears with wax,
While they are still full
Of her laughter

The ancient cathedral
Has more than enough novenas,
And indeed, the blind priest,
He will not miss just one

Pull out these bloody eyes
With spoons made for ice cream

And press them both tightly
Between the pages
Of an old book of secrets

Here, they’ll be safe,
And spared the pain
Of seeing

Stuff the eye sockets full
Of meaningless words

Wrap it all up, and
Place it all in a box
A box made of yew,
And cedar and cypress

Then, nail it shut with
Rail spikes of iron,
Hammer them in tightly
With the skull of a ram

Stretch it over completely
With the skin of my body
Pull it good and tight,
As taught as the head
Of a plaintive dirge drum

Place the whole lot of it
In the hole and cover it over
With a shovelful of mourning
And a fistful of yesterdays

They’re far superior to these
Rubrics of today’s fabrications and
Tomorrow’s rumors of
Trial-and-error pleasures

But sing to it softly,
As you cover it with fresh earth,
So it will feel less alone
As it communes in silence
With all the roots and rocks beneath

The gris-gris is not sealed
Until you etch the proper glyphs
Into the tablet of lead, and you
Speak the words over it, and then
Place it in the ground

But miss nothing about this,
It is not buried treasure
Make no maps, no monuments,
No markings on the calendar

It is only a sarcophagus,
The coffin of a scorpion
Who dreamed itself once
A bright pharaoh of the valley
But awoke screaming in the night
To the songs of its madness
And it crawled into itself
And there, ever, it remained

Listen now to the kettle,
How it raves and howls,
How it steals hot kisses
From the streetlights below,
And thumbs its raised nose
At wandering ghouls

There will be no snow this winter,
Only weeping glaciers

And the sea will be taking
Its out-of-time cues
From the heartless sun
Who is thankful for itself

The ferryman waits for me,
On the bank of the morning

His oar is readied
And impatiently thumping

It is time to go

But You Can’t Say It

Sometimes, you know the real reason,
But you still can’t be the one to say it
You know well why they did the thing,
But it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter at all

It must come from within, in its season
On some level, they know but won’t admit
The canary’s mouth closed; it will not sing
And Van Gogh’s ear refuses the call

By themselves, they’ll have to figure it out
No matter how obvious it may be to you
If you spell it all out, simple and plain
They’ll only reject it as a selfish ploy

Some fall deep into the well of doubt,
Won’t do what the heart most wants to do
They’ll forge on ahead, no matter the pain
Things that love, and are loved, destroy

Avert the eyes of the face in the mirror,
Admitting mistakes, the need to change,
They’ll rake themselves over hot coals
To keep everyone happy, all but the self

Unless it cuts deep, so they feel it clearer
Regardless of how unnecessarily strange
They’ll stick to expired, worn-out goals
Try not to look at the dreams on the shelf

You want so badly to explain it in detail
You know their truth even better than they
If they’d only admit it, they’d be satisfied
You want to scream, draw them a diagram

If you say it for them, your intentions fail
Suspicious of the things you do and say
Fear, manipulations; you must have lied
Some play the willing sacrificial lamb

It’s easier to suffer in miserable silence
Than admit what it is they want the most
Swallow feelings, cause no one displeasure
Love is expensive; it’s cheaper to scream

And their beautiful vision dies in violence
While they suffer daily as drudgery’s host
Twist in boredom’s unhappy full measure
Hold the anchor and let go of the dream