There Will Be No Breath Tonight
It’s all so black
and wasted
and washed up
on the arid shore
of a desert that died
under the sun
by scorching rays
hell bent on absolution
it’s the main attraction
the circus
shows up to see
the freak show
the failures
the fuck ups
the fall outs
the face plant
on the hardwood floor
in the kitchen
with the killer
sharpening a jagged blade
jagged edge
of a jagged pill
swallow up
cut the throat
slice the lungs
torch the guts
cancer city
pristine palace
for the parasite
that kills the host
kills itself
kills the gods
kills the silence
slaughters the epiphany
National Amnesia
I love sporting events –
especially the brutal, nasty,
hard-hitting,
hard-edged, gladiator style
contests –
as much as the next
good ole, red-blooded,
American Patriot;
but when I’m getting
all pumped up
for the competition to fire
off,
as the troops face each other
for war,
I have only one, simple
request:
Can they at least
choose a better song for the
anthem?
Scott Thomas Outlar enjoys the
process of ranting, raving, and writing experimental, existential,
prose-fusion screeds dedicated to the Phoenix Generation. He can be
reached at 17Numa@gmail.com.
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