Scott Thomas Outlar- Two Poems

Swelling Gills

 

One more drink at 3 a.m.

because my bipolar liver

isn’t expecting the lemon juice detox

for another nine hours anyway

so I might as well pour the rum

to the gills

and wait for the organs

to swell up like a whale

beached and breaching

past the last thin layer of reality

to expose the underbelly

of everything

too dense to fade away

too high to lift off

too poisoned to reach paradise

too happy to care a lick

and too raw to be cooked

in absolution’s fire

when Armageddon’s chief liar

comes rolling through with a forked tongue

spitting lava on the empire

kissing death upon the city

writing eulogies for the cabal

and taking names for next Christmas

when coal is coming in heaps

to drag down the stockings

of a festering elitist ragtag assortment

of cronies, crooks, and cowards

who need the good advice

of a death urge chorus choir

to sing them like a siren unto the grave

where worms are eagerly awaiting

for a little fresh bait of their own

Cut Short

 

It’s all to write one more poem –

every sip

every smoke

every kiss

every dream

every move

every mission

It’s all to drain my psyche dry –

every thought

every action

It’s all to reach a point of exhaustion – 

Scott Thomas Outlar dances to the flowing rhythms of the Tao River while laughing at and/or weeping over life's existential nature. More of his work can be found at 17numa.wordpress.com.