a nice big mug of hot rococo

a little understated skywriting
announcing the death
of a loved one
brightens up any picnic

a small, unobtrusive
mountain of mayonnaise
or tapioca pudding
in their living room
makes for a wonderful
birthday surprise

a subtle moat of blood
around your mansion
is much classier than
any ol’ stupid
infinity pool

a modest bouquet of wildfire
in your neighbor’s garden
is a much more imaginative
housewarming gift
than a dull plate of
homemade cookies

one will never present
as rude or ostentatious,
if only you remember
not to scream obscenities
in the movie theater…
until after the opening credits

it’s not beyond the
boundaries of good taste
to have an assortment
of gangrenous appendages
on the bureau in the foyer
instead of the more traditional
candies and breath mints

the neighbors will appreciate
a conservative display
of heads on spikes;
it’s a nice way to
outline the borders
of one’s property line
without being too
uncivilized about it

it’s hardly meretricious or inelegant
to wear a fifty-foot royal purple robe,
with the ears and eyes
of one’s enemies
stitched into the edges

it is, after all, a formal affair;
one wouldn’t wear it
to go out dancing,
obviously

no one of good breeding
will think you garish,
just because you
proclaimed yourself
lord emperor of all unicorns

most will assume
that it was merely
the wine talking

if you bring your honey badger
to that karaoke bar
where all your coworkers
meet for happy hour,
you’ll have the envy of
everyone at the office

it’s not too glitzy or braggadocio
to wear lingerie and furs to church,
not for the easter service, anyway

no one can accuse you of
behaving bodaciously
when you drag a couple of
five-gallon containers of gasoline
into the library, then proceed to
dump them out, and
light up a cigarette

after all, some of us like to
enjoy a good book
with a smoke

never too splashy
to pass out sex toys
and clean needles
at the old folks’ home
and the orphanage;
it just wouldn’t be christmas
without the spirit of giving

yes, it is “commanding”
to slit one’s throat
over the punch bowl

but everyone at the party
knows you’re single,
and you really do
have to peacock
just a smidge,
if you’re ever
going to
attract that
special someone

anyone who
scolds you
for pissing on a
wedding cake
just doesn’t know
how to party

who cares if you didn’t hit
every single note perfectly
in that show tune?

before you started boldly
livening up the place with song,
it was so tense and somber
in that operating room;
those surgeons should be
thanking you

it’s anything but too splashy
to throw mardi gras beads
at a funeral

everyone appreciates it
when you spice things up
with some colorful fun,
and who doesn’t like
free costume jewelry?

people are just
too uptight
these days

don’t take it personally;
they simply
do not understand
your special brand
of panache


©2024 Kevin Trent Boswell

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Magus72 on Patreon – the music, poetry, and madness of Kevin Trent Boswell


The music and poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell

The music and poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell


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truncated thermometers

my harpsichord needs new spark plugs

there’s a little too much play
in this troglodyte toggle switch;
it’s randomly going on and off,
and that could mean that
no one at all is going to get hurt

I went halfway around the world,
just to change your mind,
turn it all around,
and go the rest of the way homeless

I stopped being witty and cute
about five and a half hours
before I ever got started

horrific crash,
a dust bunny in the corner
slammed into me, head on,
and I nearly died

when I say that I’ll
wake up again tomorrow
and carry on as usual,
no one ever takes these
threats of self-harm seriously

a good scouring scourge
is a healthy part of any
unbalanced individual’s therapy;
I recommend you go on Tuesdays,
between the hours of midnight and
fathomless apathy;
ask for Tomás

embracing the barn owl’s lofty promise
was always a noble goal;
if we’re talking about the goal that is
that precious few inches
of golden airspace
between your drunk friend’s fingers,
in which they present you
the priceless opportunity
to hit your paper football through it

back into the lab,
to draw up new schematics
for sucker punch melody grinders
and rambunctious shades of taupe

the widget blueprints were leaked;
the balloon factory obviously has a mole

every single bit of this
was somehow even better
than the other one that you
weren’t paying attention to, either

the pretzel grenades will
make short work of our adversaries;
short work that will malinger
through the frenzied millennia

even now, in this
early phase of the campaign,
our garden gnome mercenaries
are gathering reconnaissance
and torturing the water hose
for useful information
about that twig over by the fence

let’s synchronize our watches
we’ll reconvene at eleven hundred hours
to plan our assault on
that blueberry cheesecake

to imply that there’s some potentially
better use of our time and energy
is an offense punishable by
not being offered a slice
of cheesecake

that’ll teach those bastards

in the meantime,
I have hired a new duende,
and we can trust that
all the the arrangements
will be handled appropriately

our schemes of passive conquest,
followed by a bit of relaxing seppuku
are quite safe within its capable,
razored claws

tonight’s humiliation is the epitome
of postmodern junkyard chic;
I like mine sautéed with garlic,
onion, mandrake root, capsicum,
wolfsbane, and a pinch of dill

de rigueur new wave infatuation
folds up nicely, and tucks away neatly
into the furnace

these feral scarecrows
wander through the violet patch,
looking for windbreakers, opium,
and elusive moments of quiet,
inspired slaughter


©2024 Kevin Trent Boswell 


The music and poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell
The music and poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell 
remission, poetry by Kevin Trent Boswell
Available on Amazon

honestly…

honestly,
the sun is full of razors

and, even if it’s embarrassing,
it’s still the gospel truth…
I used to collect amnesias,
but now, I’ve given all that up;
gave the whole set back
to her majesty, the queen

and now, there’s so much knowledge,
it won’t even fit on the milk cartons

but, the juice
is much more slippery,
on the other side of town

if we’re really telling all,
there are only sharks
in the sea

each bite,
delicious sadness,
if you must know

let’s be totally clear
about all of this,

we’ve grown far too close
to one another
to stop lying to ourselves, now

the party favor wasn’t punished
for passing itself around,
but for passing itself off
as a thing all nailed down

let your hairless cats hang loose, and
slip into something nauseating

it ruins the texture of the pudding,
if you don’t bleed it out just right

so, dish out the starchy,
fat parts of the story,
so you can
pick up a new one,
down at your favorite food truck

give it all away
before midnight,
and the fifth
is free

not to burst any bubbles,
but the snowman
isn’t actually
made of lunar cheese

and, all that rain is fake;
it’s really nothing more
than water

the consigliere is only guessing,
it’s all wild speculations;
hopes that no one will notice,
that they’ll all just play along

but, the wandering minstrel
has lost his will to lie down

and, the troubadour
is sharpening his boots
for the dance

on the level, I will tell you
that motor isn’t running,
only because it’s
all out of rocks and gum balls

if it’s time to get real,
then we must
suck it up
and finally admit,
all the Kewpie dolls
are dying in the streets

the cobbler is high again;
treatment didn’t take

the shoes are made of peaches,
the boats all made of pearls
and, the pears are getting fresh
with the sailors in the saloon

apricot dandies dancing
with apple cider cinder blocks
in the twilight of everything
that never happened
thrice

rehearsing old headlines
for all the latest,
breaking news

the oysters
are all full of
shotgun pellets

all the nails are soggy,
and the slugs are too tall

every day is
carte blanche
ice cream, caviar, and
internal hemorrhaging

all the wild ponies
are stuffed with loose rainbows,
loose rainbows made of oil spills,
and sprinkles of leprosy

the attraction is purely chemical,
pure forever chemicals

today…

today was
full of
not dying

and a tentative
lucidity

the significance of this is
yet to be determined

it’s either a huge win,
or it is entirely meaningless,
or it’s the greatest loss
of the entire war,

or it’s wholly imaginary,
or it’s simply
yet to be
determined

all the bubbles
are busy blowing
away in the breezes

all the busy
are stuck,
spinning endlessly,
on the quick wash
unicycle

none of the etiquette
equates to
actual manners

no one’s manner equates

at least,
not to anything short of
mannerisms

the etiquette of mannequins

the ethics of plush toys;
plush toys on holiday,
plush toys that
can’t be bothered
with all your
insistence
on being
treated
as anything
more than
a plush toy

the horizon is full of paper cuts,
and old bandaids

all the drums squeak
when you hit them

each sip is dry,
and demands
yet another

if you’re walking into the furnace,
be sure to take a jacket with you,
so you don’t catch cold

every bottle you find
is full of three wishes,
someone else’s

none of the colors run;
they all stand their ground,
ready to fight you to the death

any of these knives
are sharp enough
to do the job,
just as long as
you don’t need to
cut anything

all these silk handkerchiefs
are perfectly safe;
not a single one of them
will have been harmed in the slightest,
after they’re done
strangling you

the factories are all
at maximum production,
cranking out empty picture frames
and invitations to dinner

the lists of new lists
seem to sit flush with eternity;
none of them complain,
and it takes a hot minute
to become accustomed
to the silence

every pile of shit
that you see here, on the ground,
they all taste like
chocolate and peanut butter;
trust me

this machine gun
is so much more
convenient
than air conditioning

if we’re speaking candidly,
then, you always
preferred hanging
your laundry
out to dry

there are no more puppies
but, we’re all stocked up on
ska music, instant polyps, and
disposable consciences

all the mountains shatter
when you step on them…
if we’re being totally honest

the days, all ripped up,
for tourniquet rags

the hours, shattering into dust,
if you so much as
glance at them sideways

each of these
marvelous things,
all made possible
by your presence

now, the hounds
will go without their supper,
and the king’s innards
will spill out at his feet,
there, on the palace floor

and all the poor children will cry,
because none of the salads
will ever be scrambled again

and the tumbleweeds
will all starve,
for want of the suffocation
you so graciously
bestowed upon them,
in the days gone by

none of the little assassins
will get Christmas cards this year,
despite having been such
good girls and boys

the coffee is full of conspiracy,
and the fish all taste like marshmallows

the sleet sings sweet lullabies,
in which there are no names

just between you and me,
and this scarecrow, here…

as long as we’re
shooting straight…

it’s terribly worrying
to think that
none of the boils will be
allowed to fester
and ripen in time
for the harvest

because you
will not be here
to feed them

it is tragic,
how much you will
be missed

the traffic
moves right along,
screaming its miseries
into the night


©2024 Kevin Trent Boswell


The music and poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell
The music and poetry of Kevin Trent Boswell 
remission, poetry by Kevin Trent Boswell
Available on Amazon

Perception

You may think you’ve seen this one but you ain’t. The new, improved and at least 333% stranger version of “Perception” from the album Flagship by Trent Boswell.


Lyrics:

Perception

What’s a man supposed to do?
It’s hard today just not to lose
So, when I’m down and beaten blue
I look around and think of you

Sink into my contemplation
Answers come with concentration

And strong opinions, well I have mine
And you may find me blind
But I don’t mind because it’s true;
I’ve never needed to see you

Walking ‘cross the field,
I realize that nothing’s real
No pain or joy

Out on the lawn the past is gone
I simply can’t be wrong anymore

Was paid a visit, a strange man
He said that Jesus could lend a hand
Now many a man can’t see the road
Or make a stand on his own

If God is Love, then Love is God
And you agree without a nod

© 2021 Kevin Trent Boswell


The album, Flagship, is available at:

Flagship, by Trent Boswell - original avant-garde rock music

iTunes

Amazon

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Or get your own, signed copy of Flagship over at Conjure Work.


Trent Boswell – lyrics, all guitar parts, vocals

Ed Kopp – bass guitar

Brett Waress – drums


Show Your Support

You can help by hitting the thumbs up 👍 button, directly on the YouTube page.

Subscribe ✅ to get more of this kind of madness. Be sure to ring the little notifications bell 🔔 and select “all”.

Support more music, poetry and madness by Trent Boswell over at: Patreon.com/Magus72


Special Thanks To

For all of the really cool footage, photography and visual special effects, special thanks goes to the following people:

cottonbro

Johannes Plenio

Stef

Mikhail Nilov

KoolShooters

Mikke House

Frank Cone

Anni Roenkae

Fiona Art

Tima Miroshnichenko

Axel Vandenhirtz

As well as Pressmaster and Erin Li.


More cool, weird, poetic, philosophical, musical and sometimes disturbingly odd stuff at:

https://KevinTrentBoswell.com

https://ThePlasticInfinity.com

untitled

the dark nighttime

has many visions,

lost illusions, all seeking

to guide you

into foul madness,

struggling beneath

too-short

and coarse covers

trust your gut,

sweet child

for nothing but light

is inside you

the same

may not always

be said

of the others

look both ways

before you cross over 

the unknown

threshold

there is the light

which is in you

true

and bold

and then there’s

all of the everything 

else

that’s out there

some lights

which have gone out

but haven’t yet

been told

devils may take the

appearance of angels,

so always 

take care

these would

warm themselves

by the fires of

your favors

but themselves,

cannot

return

the good deed

gratitude absent,

and all the 

usual, 

good flavors

are not nearly so much 

in them,

not so much as 

they need

caring, something

they’re sometimes

quite good

at feigning

but they would 

not do so much 

at all,

were they able

to give you

assistance

they assist

by restraining

so that you make

in their making

up the food

on the table

in those dark places,

your rules don’t

make up

for the senses

your eyes

often fail

and your hearing

goes dumb

you‘re a good child,

a smart one

keeps up

strong defenses

against the weaving

of webs that would

have you

succumb

listen not

to easy tales 

of leisure

or love

be generous

to the grateful,

giving too much,

one discovers

there’s humanity

in your heart

and it fits you,

like a glove

but the same

may not always

be said

of the others

listen closely

when the light

whispers its

soft warning

go not lightly

where it would

sternly 

guide you away

lean gentle

upon your genteel

manners

of good morning

shield carefully,

your beacon

shining,

that it may

ward off those

hungry things, 

slinking 

in the twilight

committing

many crimes

to justify

sadness

your large heart

feeds them 

but the briefest 

time’s highlight

your manners 

won’t bring them

single moment’s

gladness

baleful hunger

returns ever, 

without

pause

more hot and fierce,

and much

stronger

than before

opening you

slowly, 

hiding

their cause

growing more

and more bold,

once you open

the door

in knowing

what warm,

nice feelings

spill out of you

upon your noble,

good faith,

they come

again to dine

a stitch of

incredulous

will keep away

death’s hue

after all

is said and done,

it almost always

saves nine

trim the wick

of your candle,

its bright light,

inspire

keep your

powder all dry

and your lamp

tinder lit

the pushers

of darkness,

small steps lead

to the dire

be careful

and wise

and don’t

fall for it

strange misgivings

will have you 

to shirk, 

with sudden attitude

even the

friendliest

of those come

hither smiles

the first thing

to go, 

once they get in,

is your mood

lasting longer

than it should,

means you’re taken

by the wiles

hold your memory

tight 

and never let them 

touch

trust, when the way down 

is nagging

and the good feeling 

lacks

harken which hands 

reach for you,

too awful

much

a bother in your belly, 

stops you 

dead in your 

tracks

your energy

will fail,

long before

their thirst

that visceral fear, 

in your warm,

tenderhearted

guts

if you take

the hooked bait,

you’ll soon see

their worst

suspicious,

uncertain

and thinking that

you’re nuts

those uneasy

twinges

that drive you back,

second guessing

from the most

obvious act

of a seeming

benevolence

they’re there

to warn you

of something

bad, pressing

despite daddy’s

words good can 

sometimes draw 

a malevolence

some feed on grace,

manners 

and mother’s charm school

propriety

it’s less commentary

on your love

on more so,

on their bleakness

in spite

of polite

good intentions,

all sobriety

resides in your

maintenance

against your own

weakness

glowing with life,

you are 

and so, must remain

in your poises

stay out of the

shadows

and out

of the foolish

they, and it, wane 

into dark dins

of the most 

horrible noises

which lead

away from light

and down into

the ghoulish

when your social

sensibilities

are suddenly

eviscerated

and it happens

without logical

reasons,

not one

something upon surface

seems

rather

uncomplicated

do not question it,

dear child,

instead…

turn and run

abdominal doubt

scorning the

solid

handshaking

is hidden

inside of

your knotted-up,

inward self

signal of a threat, 

through 

inexplicable

quaking

though they look

the good deal,

put them back

on the shelf

never wander

too closely

to the edges

of the dark

shadows have

been known,

on occasion, 

to jump through

to leap out and swallow

flickering,

pretty things

that spark

those that reside

inside of

pretty things

such as you

keep close

to the guard dogs

who growl

behind fierce eyes

when strange

temptations

come close,

offering favors

do not lean in,

or listen

too well

to their lies

the keepers

of darkness

and light

are close neighbors

and sometimes

those shaded

boundaries 

do fall wide open

for some 

always go there,

eager to steal 

keys

this may shock

or confuse,

sensibilities,

all broken

disappearance 

in the night happens, 

with the greatest

of ease

not all are so nice 

as you, child and know 

that some are the weight

of a great, heavy stone

not everyone

and everything

would have you

to live

some would

consume all,

even marrow

of your bone

every precious,

last drop of

all the blood

you could give

some of the

monsters feed

quietly

on your brain

not keeping you

in such good

but a good many

shapes

most monsters fall out

from the ordinary

and there,

they remain

until you break

their spells  

and your spirit

escapes

creepers

all slithering

down low,

out of light

shielding from

the bright, good

and sensible

day

well-hidden

under coverings,

many put up 

no fight

but will linger

and drain you

until you rise up

and slay

some appear tricky,

as a lamp 

or a torch

often does

but are only 

cloaks of

drowning 

in the cool shade

storms,

wearing rainbows

where color,

never was

any light

splintering through,

artificially

made

devils with dowries

invite you to 

lie on razor sharp 

pillows

with sweet, sugar

poisons,

sharp in the throat,

catch

because some wicks

take to light

easily, 

like dried-up, old willows

candle burns through

the night,

on first strike of

one match

some things

look a lot like a candle,

a flame or 

a spark

but they

will never burn,

no matter how hard 

you try

use up all 

your matches

and still,

in the dark

some will

always break things

and take things

and lie

about other things

like innocence

and light

and hope

lovely or kind

at first glance,

they may

look

but with a lot

of hard scrubbing

and a fair

amount of soap

you’ll discover

the ruse

and note all  

they took

I’m sorry to

have to say, child

not all is 

as it seems

in fact, most

things aren’t,

at deep heart

of the matter

in this world,

there are things

far worse 

than bad dreams

and the daylight

does not cause

them all 

just to scatter

some things

are stubborn 

in slow dying,

sowing trouble

and you’ll never

get back

those things

which were taken

guard against the losses

and in time, 

pop your own

bubble

childhood

dies a bit easier 

with your confidence,

unshaken

but die,

it must do,

since it’s nothing

but a blindness

the warm blanket

of sheltering,

by fathers

and mothers

the love you

possess, child

rewards kindness

with kindness

the same 

may not be said, 

always

of the others

Copyright 2020 Kevin Trent Boswell


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