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
Kevin Trent Boswell 