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
©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell
if one was truly
inclined
to love
one would,
happily,
and without restraint
but here—conditions,
jaundice,
patina
a sutra, a dervish,
a Buddha
you ain’t
©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell
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
©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell
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
©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell
dwindle and fade,
no satisfaction here
purpose of the ire,
in the open, now clear
garnering support,
an ethos, a ruse,
self-righteous zealot
choose and abuse
don’t need a diagnosis
to tell you to duck;
it walks, and it quacks,
underhand fuck
watch, but do nothing
feign blindness, withdraw
could help, but won’t
the soul—coup d’état
in silence, compliance,
just keep on going,
not twisting the knife,
but watching, and knowing
hardly deniable,
accessory to the fact
encircle the target
enter foul pact
a tribe may be strong,
yet, poisoned in the heart
each member chooses
if they will take part
a bias is a bias,
and roses have fangs
hatred is hatred,
and hate runs in gangs
©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell
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
©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell
