Tuesday, August 1, 2017

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


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