Whimper
by Scott Thomas Outlar

The apocalyptic storm started to run off at the mouth
with a firecracker blitzkrieg of gluttony
coming to the shoreline with a crashing black wave
frothing at the lips with poison foam
ready and willing to spit copper plated bullets
into the heart of a nuclear explosion
trashing the core of love with wicked intentions
thrashing around a gilded cage in vengeance
calling out the angels for a game of chicken
little do they know that peace is a cheat
lie, trick and steal to get what it needs
builds an avalanche of meltdown fever
molten magma crusade kept in back pocket
pull it like a knife and cut the crown
stabbed right in the eye to crush the beam
withered ancient vines suffocate upon atrophy’s touch
anti-Midas sentiments unto the grave
where jealousy dances atop the plot without remorse
cancer-coated candy carried in a bag of death
pop a little white pill under the tongue
chase it with a shot of high-octane vodka
triple distilled in a raging furnace of fire
brought down from the heavens with a splash
in the back of a scratchy muted throat
voice box tries to scream for mercy
comes out as a whimper lost in the wind
as chaos consumes what’s left on earth
back to the gene swarm swamp of regression
bubbling cosmic soup enters entropy and disillusion
as absolution laughs at last second confessions
pulls the rug out from under saints and sinners alike
Loki comes out howling at the broken moon
then spits a final curse into life’s eye

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Scott Thomas Outlar spends the hours flowing and fluxing with the ever-changing tide of the Tao River while laughing at and/or weeping over life’s existential nature. His words have appeared recently in venues such as Dissident Voice where he contributes a weekly Sunday poem, as well as Yellow Chair Review, Harbinger Asylum, Section 8 Magazine, and Poetry Quarterly. Links to his chapbook and other published work can be found at 17numa.wordpress.com.
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Photo by: Gessy Alvarez