—Photo by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
TOXIC INSOMNIA REVELATIONS
—Scott Thomas Outlar, Atlanta, GA
Run ragged to the bone
pierced with mercury/enter the marrow
sip on the flood
of blood
from opened veins
cut nightly to drain/a ruptured
death apocalypse of rain
spent dreams/wasted/no refrain
the shame of prejudicial inclinations
never close their weary eyes
staring at the sun until it dies
up all night/greet the moon
sing the blues
with falling star rhythms of chaos
sweet on the tongue
hit-and-run notes
clang to a vomited melody
cymbals smash upon the head
of a dancing needle angel battalion
lined up across the tortured sky
waiting for the clouds to part
to pour hell down from heaven
and meet upon terra firma
with Revelation heartache of war
settle every ancient score
it’s a fallen paradise come lately
with no hope of return/ignorance undone
slipping apart at the seams
tearing the threads
precarious biases at best
sadistic grudges at worst/coming in first
in all the wrong
categories of righteous behavior
(first pub. in Dissident Voice)
—Photo by Taylor Graham
BLUE LIGHT SPECIAL
—Scott Thomas Outlar
Oxygen slashed
by six percent
it’s the deal
of the week
Lung collapsed
to increase pressure
failing body
shutting down
Momentum snuffed
at the gate
gun fires
legs give out
Carry the torch
to the grave
burning worms
in the fade away
________________________
CHEAP PARCHMENT
—Scott Thomas Outlar
Yes, every poet
has those days
when they feel
their words
aren’t worth the paper
they’re penned on.
No, that is not
a comfort
to realize
when it’s one of
those days.
Yes, there is a solution
that can be found
by writing
a good one.
No, this isn’t it,
but maybe
it’ll look better
come tomorrow.
(first pub. in The Poet Community)
—Photo by Taylor Graham
JUST ENOUGH
—Scott Thomas Outlar
Those moments
when a subtle sound or sight or smell
triggers an old memory—
There is a certain
vagueness to it all…
but it just feels good.
At least
for a split second
while the electricity
snaps through the synapses,
offering a brief respite…
and sometimes,
thank God,
it is enough—
______________________
THE ETERNAL RECURRENCE
—Scott Thomas Outlar
Another day
Another dollar
or so they say
Another year
Another death
Another birth
Another cycle
and so it goes
Not every poem
has to be profound
Sometimes it is enough
to simply say:
See you on the next go round…
(first pub. in Anti-Heroin Chic)
—Photo by Robert Lee Haycock, Antioch, CA
SPRINGTIME AT THE CIRCUS
—Kevin Jones, Elk Grove, CA
A hundred clowns gather round
The little car, preening,
Wondering, is my nose
Too red? Should I
Have gone
With more polka dots?
Shoes bright and gaudy
Enough? Oh, will anyone
Notice, want me?
Nesting time down
Clown alley.
—Photo by Robert Lee Haycock
ALADDIN
—Robert Lee Haycock
He
poured
himself
back
into
his
bottle
how
long
now
since
his
genius
fled
him
all
wished
out
—Photo by Robert Lee Haycock
DEAR DIARY
—Robert Lee Haycock
Noise embosses itself upon a night.
Blue dress beckons beneath one tall tree.
Missionary overlooks crystal springs.
How do you wear ear rings when you have no ears?
Hills climb hayfoot strawfoot hayfoot.
Houses wait to burn and wait.
Another cigarette.
I’m ready.
_________________________
Today’s LittleNip:
I JUST REMEMBERED
—Robert Lee Haycock
A few naked women
One abandoned bicycle
Bruised leaves of the flowering plum
That song unsung
Hanged versus hung
I think I’ll wang chung
Tonight
________________________
—Medusa, with many thanks to today’s poets and photographers for this fine collection to start off our day!
—Photo by Taylor Graham
