writing – Page 6 – Kevin Trent Boswell

standard operating procedure

standard operating procedure
or the abbreviation S.O.P. for short

throw it out the fucking window,
as far as any attempt to navigate
the world, as it is, right now, today

nothing works the way it used to
and none of the old rules apply

reliability is no longer a feature
most people treat each other as sport

the only thing you can really know
is that for us, it’s probably too late
but there’s no one who can definitely say

it’s no longer just about what you do
it’s not only a matter of how hard you try

it’s easy to find a lovely creature
the attractive-on-the-outside sort

but when the inside parts begin to show
you might turn off or begin to hate
and lose your previous desire to play

if their nature is less-than-true
if they’re the type that’s prone to lie

you don’t need a guru or preacher
nor a bunker, a base, or a blanket fort

only a love to make your heart glow,
to change your mind about your fate
and honest, kind words to say

you need “do unto others, as to you”
and together, you can happily die

if you could

if you ceased all wandering,
and instead, you stayed put

if you found something strong
that nailed you, daily, in place

if that something was so heavy,
you felt chained down by joy

if you experienced the weight of it
like floating on air

if you had less choices,
and yet, felt more free

if you were no more a princess,
but a subject, instead

if you straddled the worlds
between saint and sinner

if guided through this, nightly,
by your psychopomp priest

if you lost all freedom
and served a steel master

if you found that, through service,
you discovered true self

if you begged for each thing
and enjoyed all your pleading

if your station was lowered,
but you were held above all others

if you could curl up by a throne,
at the feet of a king

if rebellion was never the answer
or an option

if all else ceased to matter
or exist

if bound by such a contract,
an ironclad arrangement

if you could, but to do so,
you’d need to humbly ask

if you could, then you’ll pose
this question to yourself

if the answer is yes (and it is),
to the other

and gone, all sense

and questioning the extent
of my vision

and being snared by something simple
as a voice

and to inquire, internally,
of one’s taste

and second-guessing
that redolent fragrance

and to sit in the wonder
of one’s touch

and to find lost processes
in a quandary

and decline into
the distrust of my agency

beneath the strange tutelage of a whisper

and to revel in the ecstasy
of dreams

and to torture the soul
with a longing

and all at once,
in a flash,
gone the senses

and it’s all over
for a mad wanting
of the wanted

unfamiliar

increasingly aware
of an unfamiliar presence

a rose-colored disturbance of the peace

a little thing that causes
slight pandemonium in the chest,
a short circuit in the system

an uncomfortable sense
of immediacy, urgency

irritating awareness
of theoretical consequences

does a distraction know
that it distracts?

a delightful threat
a potentially dangerous treat
a pretty bowl of soft candies

“come and taste and eat”

a sweet scent hangs on the air

shake off the pleasant delirium
take a nautical reading
course correction
bear East 90°

forge dutifully ahead

allow the eye to wander
through the halls of imagination

and glance briefly
at what may
or may not

I Can Bleed

I suppose I could bleed for you
Or perhaps for myself or a friend
I could bleed for money and status
Or as part of a goal, a means to an end

And unfortunately, I have to say,
Because I’d rather not suffer in blindness,
That I will not be bleeding for you,
Because you never return the kindness

Good Luck, Liberal

Liberals need to get a grip on the facts
Democracy has come right off the tracks
Get it through your Progressive head
This doesn’t end without bloodshed

The Epstein list, it just doesn’t matter
Scandals don’t cause tyrants to scatter
The “schism” should cause you no elation
But you’re not ready for that conversation

Maybe you’ll get lucky; I don’t know
Like the British, saying, “You guys can go”
King George set us free just to be nice
And we didn’t even have to ask twice

Or how Southern States just up and quit,
No need for the Union to do actual shit
Confederacy said, “Hey, let’s not fight”
“We’re sorry. We want to make it right”

When that guy with the funny mustache
Apologized for being grumpy and rash
He regretted invading Poland and France,
Gave it right back when he had a chance

But good luck with the nonviolent protest
If boycotts and letters are your very best
You should persuade them any day now
Although, in truth, I don’t know how

Those authoritarian fashy-types,
Don’t yield power over grumbles or gripes
To beat fascism without ending up dead
Get over yourself, and embrace bloodshed