scott thomas outlar


Wherever It May Go 

Her skeleton legs
stretch out through the fog
of my hazy intentions,
my muddled recollections,
my grit torn, whitewashed,
blacked out, gray perceptions.

Her winnowing path
is not paved in concrete facts,
but can only be traveled
by those light of foot
and willing
to leave the abstract horrors
of yesterday’s towns
and tomorrow’s unknown destinations
in the realm of nowhere nothingness
where all might-have-beens
and still-could-bes belong.

Her mangled elusiveness
draws me into a grainy web of distortion,
and though we both have
our set of scars,
we also have the eternal Nowness
of this One primal moment
that pierces down to the marrow –
so we dance with these hollow bones
along this path to our grave,
laughing in the madness all the while.

A Little Piece of Paradise 

The crashing waves of time’s elapsing elegance
wash over the lazy past of loneliness,
carrying forth the undertow verdict
and placing its spasm-smashed hammer of truth
upon the shell-caked shoreline
where a new day can begin in earnest.
Cross pattern wind currents
blow in from the east passage,
synchronizing with salt-soaked air
that sweats out all reminders
of the would’ve, could’ve, should have
All focus phase shifts to the one point,
humming electrically in the inner ear
under a coconut tree
whose nutrients will carry this age aloft.
Smooth sailing now for the stranded.

The Thin Line  

People act so polite,
wearing their civil mask attire.
“How are you?” as she scans each item.
“Fine, fine, and you?” as he pulls out his card.
But should those shelves
one day be empty,
and should those bellies
one day be growling,
how soon it shall be
before niceties are left in the store
while war rages in the streets
over the simple necessities of survival.

Turning the Cycle 

When I sneeze,
I see God.
Killing my mind
to reach Nirvana.
When I weep,
the flood comes.
Cutting my vein
to save the world.
When I rest,
the wars cease.
Enter my dreams
to slay the Beast.
When I scream,
the thunder roars.
Bringing the rain
to cleanse mortal flesh.
When I sing,
the stars shine.
Turn on the light
to chase away shadows.
When I feast,
the silence arrives.
Sacrifice my meal
to keep the cycle turning.
When I fuck,
the seed blooms.
Sowing the fields
to reap evolution’s rewards.
When I die,
the dust forms.
Burn until ash
to call out the Phoenix.


We all wear a noose.
That’s the price paid
to be tied down
in this temporal playground.
The difference is that
some of us choose to wear ours loose.

Thus Spoke the Grave Digger  

Nietzsche said:
That which does not kill you
only makes you stronger.
This may well be true
for those who have strong wills.
But what he forgot to take into account
are all the people who face an avalanche
and then spend the rest of their days buried alive.

House Rules

March…left, right, left
March…left, right, left
March…left, right, left
Go die
for US
It’s in
the name
of GOD

March…left, right, left
March…left, right, left
March…left, right, left
Go back
our hand
and WEEP

The Blind Leading the Blind  

I am the white walrus
with a bloated whale liver
sunk out at sea
on a raft
Buddha forgot to inspect
no safety net
to stay afloat
the dolphins are stuck
with the tuna
let’s order sushi
with our mercury poisoning
and GMO soy sauce
so the organs can explode
like popcorn massacre
for a future born into mutation
get a fresh huff of radiation
depleted uranium tax breaks
every child needs a credit score
to keep up with the neighbors
who murdered Jones
and left the grave fresh
for a dog to lay a bone in
all these skeletons in America’s closet
are looking more and more like monsters
carrying self destructive urges
armed to the teeth
with masked Jihadist intentions
screaming to their prophet
for a taste of virgin flesh
in the desert where mirages
fool the worst into believing
they were so close to the finish
not on a track that leads to nowhere



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