Scott Thomas Outlar

by Horror Sleaze Trash on February 7, 2017

Scott Thomas Outlar hosts the site 17Numa.wordpress.com where links to his published poetry, fiction, essays, and interviews can be found. His latest books include: Songs of a Dissident (Transcendent Zero Press, 2015), Happy Hour Hallelujah (CTU Publishing, 2016), and Chaos Songs (Weasel Press, 2016). Scott recently received three Pushcart Prize nominations for his work in 2016. He serves as an editor for Walking Is Still Honest Press, The Blue Mountain Review, Novelmasters, and The Peregrine Muse.

 


 

 

Shaping the Final Dissolve

 

 

My soul grew twisted in the womb

to breach a tortured birth,

and when I taste

the virgin blood of Mary

it does nothing to satiate

the suffering

to which I am wed.

 

The cradle in which I was weened

held its space six feet underground,

and when I sing

the tortured song of chaos

there is no comfort found

in the notes that burn

to the black of my marrow.

 

There is no revival ceremony

during the season when leaves grind to ash,

and when I purge

the dust from naked flesh

there will be no clay

left to mold

this wicked world back into form.

 

 


 

 

Suicidal March of the Worms

 

 

The only thing left

to accomplish before I die

is to write a poem

that makes your eyes bleed

just from looking at the words.

 

I hereby announce

my candidacy

for President

of the Divided States of America …

in 2028.

Let me at

those nuclear codes

because I’m feeling

nothing but red

right now.

Perhaps I’ll cool off

over the next twelve years …

but I doubt it.

 

In the meantime,

maybe there is

an assault riffle

I can get

my grubby little paws on

so I can shoot

a thousand rounds

per minute

through every amendment

while taking

the Constitution

down in flames.

 

Hell, it’s being done systematically

at this point anyway,

so why not

hasten the demise

of freedom and sovereignty

by completely turning the reins

over to the statists

so they can set up

their delusional paradise on earth?

 

I want to watch them fail

because schadenfreude

runs rampant

through my veins,

and my heart

is one beat away

from complete madness.

 

An eruption

is right around the bend,

so come join me

at Yellowstone Park

where we can dance

as the plates shift

and the sky falls.

 

Some say love is the answer,

but I’m full of black coal,

so I’d rather see chaos

unleashed from the lion

that rages loud

just to see who will fall

at its feet to be devoured.

 

The only thing

I have left to accomplish

before I die

is to lace this cancer

into the marrow

of every bone

in the body politic.

 

When will the heads

start rolling?

I want to be high

as a kite

on that day

so my feet

don’t get swamped

in the blood.

 

The only thing left

to accomplish

before I die

is to sing

this dark lullaby

that weeps

and wails

through the night

with promises

of pestilence

upon the populace

which is fated

for the same

grave

as the worms

and I.

 

 


 

 

Style

 

 

Cough up the cancer

from your pus-filled guts

and then bite my tongue

when the aftershocks kick in.

 

I dreamt that a black snake

slithered down from its tree

and bit my hand,

but my loved ones were spared

so the sacrifice was worth the pain

as poison entered my bloodstream.

 

God injected my soul with venom

before I was stuffed in the womb

so I was born already immune

to the rampant evil

that runs amok across this earth.

 

You can’t please everyone

with the style

that you use to slide

across the dance floor of this life,

but you can surely smile

every time there is an attempt

to cut you off at the knees.

 

 


 

 

Low Guard

 

 

Detach me from the vein of God.

Smear me with the blood of Christ.

Drown me in the wine of Dionysus.

Kiss me with your violent lips.

Place that dagger in my side.

Teach me how to love again.

Torch these dreams when I wake up.

Sell my soul for a bag of silver.

Laugh at me when I’m on the floor.

Lift me up to pray with angels.

Drag me down where the demons growl.

Speak to me with a whisper of betrayal.

Lick my wounds with a tongue of salt.

Fuck me hard when I’m most fragile.

Force my will to the edge of evolution.

Bring the light to reveal my shadow.

Rape me when my guard is low.

Feed me grapes from a garden of paradise.

Slaughter my heart with your dark sacrifice.

Fool me twice with a tease of torture.

Call the flood to wash away my sins.

Pull the plug when my flesh turns rotten.

Reclaim my soul as the mortal coil unwinds.

Say goodbye with your fakest smile.

 

 


 

 

37

 

 

After living on this earth for 36 years,

it becomes increasingly difficult

to experience new ways of being disappointed.

 

But God knows,

she really did a number on me.

 

 

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