Wednesday, September 16, 2015

poem || Scott Thomas Outlar

Six into Seven

Tongue tied, twisted up in knots,
catching a cold case of three ring circus
in the back of the throat –
spit it out, lest ye choke
on the circumstantial evidence
of a turncoat phrase…laid to waste
by the treachery of a silver knife
pressed tight to the side of a jugular vein
juggling the pain in front of the king –
laughing obscene, howling through dreams
of an empire’s rage…wasteland on full display.
Oil fields and diamond shafts
shutterstep across plasma silicon valley persuasion,
dripping with chocolate propaganda
laced in vanilla honey lilac maple syrup paradise –
skin soothed by open wounds,
bleeding out with doomsday plumes –
up in smoke, out of luck, triple six
branded on the wrists, followed fast
by sunsplashed sevens marked on the forehead
as an escape route to salvation –
kicking up dirt in the face of the Beast…
dust, grime and ash prepared for the feast
devoured in full, electric gut swirl
all a-twirl in the splendor of a glowing ember
raging red hot with coal-kissed carbon cries
polluting the hazy skies…violently pried
a beam from the eye…judgment decried –
holy happy hour hallelujah on a soapbox pedestal
raining down the ivory tower shards of glass…
house of cards sure to smash
in the futuristic fallout, fade away, quick to blaze
righteous on the singsong cross
after three days of a sweltering solstice…
begging for the solar savior to return in full glory
of glamour in the midnight hour retribution ceremony.

1 comment:

  1. "jugular vein

    juggling the pain " I love this line! I am yet to slip into a raging free falling rant! You just know how to Scott! I need to be more daring!

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