SCOTT THOMAS OUTLAR

SCOTT THOMAS OUTLAR

HARD STOP

It doesn’t take me long

at this stage of my life

to process death.

There is no moral value

placed on such a fact,

or sense of satisfaction

that arrives in the end.

I watched my father

let out his last breath

from a bed that sucked

the life from his lungs.

I watched my soulmate

set the world on fire

and smother all our dreams

in the space of one moment.

There is no fine point

left to be made

after the period.

 

SUBTLE MISCALCULATIONS

In my vocabulary,

soulmate is not

a casual word,

though compound it sure seems.

Unfortunately,

for some awful reason

that I’m unable to discern,

it does happen to be

for all those

who have used it regarding me.

 

SQUISHING FACES

I didn’t even truly get to know you,

and now it haunts me.

I could have held you,

closer,

when I had the chance,

briefly,

as we laid in bed,

squishing,

thinking we always had tomorrow,

wrongly.

You wouldn’t let me learn your lessons,

and now the test feels incomplete.

SCOTT THOMAS OUTLAR