Roaring
into a Calm
This
lust
is
the zero-point
of
sweet salvation
This
tongue
is
the highest wave
of
pure form chaos
This
truth
is
the apocalypse
seeking
to rise
This
bed
is
the new home
where
Winter is braved
This
God
is
the electric pulse
that
passes between us
This
kiss
is
the alpha stage
where
flesh is tamed
This
dragon
is
the roaring sign
of
golden fire
This
moment
is
all I need
to
whisper love
Sucking Vapors
Back when I was a child
riding around with my buddy
as his Dad drove us home
from the baseball field,
whenever we’d pass a cemetery
he’d tell me to hold my breath
or else the spirits of the dead
would enter my body through the lungs.
I’d play along and pretend as if
I believed such dire warnings,
occasionally having to really go the distance
if we happened to get stopped at a streetlight
situated directly beside a graveyard.
These days I’m a bit more daring
and open to the occult,
so as I drove by a cemetery plot earlier today
I took a big huff of oxygen,
inhaling as many ghost fumes as possible
because I’m constantly in search
of the next fresh dose of inspiration
no matter where the energy might originate.
It’s a bit odd though,
as ever since I’ve had an intense craving
for cornbread and black-eyed peas,
as well as a strange urge to call Frank
and tell him to turn the stove off.
All I can think of now is: Who the hell is Frank?
(originally appeared in Peeking Cat Poetry Magazine)
Scary
Story
I
will die
the
same as
my
father died
and
his father
before
him
Once
those facts
are
laid out
on
the table
from
the opening gambit
there
isn’t much
left
in this life
that
could give me
The
Fear
Bio:
Scott Thomas Outlar hosts the site 17Numa.wordpress.com
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