poets – Page 3 – Kevin Trent Boswell

do not

no flailing
hopelessly
against the
locked door

no hurling of self
at the feet of the
unappreciative,
useless,
would-be
royal

no pleading
with a fickle child,
changing-with-the-wind,
always insistent,
and never gracious

there shall only be
the championing
of the devout
worshipper

the one who basks
in the joy of being
in the presence

who abundantly,
persistently,
and clearly
sings the praises

this,

this is the only head
that shall be
crowned
and kissed
and covered
by praise and protection,
by the gift of honor,
and the giving
and receiving
of service

service
rendered
in endless
and selfless
bliss

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?

surrogate cadaver

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

A Trick of the Light

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

purpled

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

dead, bloated cow

and that sickly, ugly war
raged through the streets,
unhinged and unhappy,
all too costly and unaware
of the damage it deals

it blisters the skin and boils the blood,
ripping down foundations,
blasting apart buildings,
making vehicles cease to exist,
filling the air with a foul stench
of fear and anger

its reward? only carnage
and arrogant blustering,
nothing of validity or consequence;
nothing positive or loving or logical

only the bellowing roar of endless warring

a hotdog cart burning in the road,
and fat, half-dead cow by the river,
making horrible noises of pain,
as it hopelessly calls out for attention

and to think, how everything
could have been peaceful, happy, and quiet

but some will always find it absolutely
unacceptable to have anything other than
their way