Strip the Gilded
  
  
 Urgency in your (impulsive)
                          methods of transgression
                     (faltering/declined transactions)
  
        see just how
                 flying off the (cuffed) handle
           leaves us backwards
                         from where we started
  
 Aggression in your (silent)
                            lack of observations
                     (obstinate/scaredy-cat stubbornness)
  
           careful not to cut
                  too deep in (captured) organs
               though there’s no threat of such
                          if you forget to finger keys
  
 There is a world
           (life is full
                   & more wealthy
               than simple riches
                         will ever offer)
        that exists outside
                       the cages
            (can you not break free
                     & smash beyond?)
                of fear
                      you choose to be trapped within
                                     (& rip this heart
                                               wide open)
 
   
 Fault Lines
   
 I run my hand
 across your skeleton key;
  
 finger the wounds
 where secrets are stored.
  
 I hold your image high
 during fits of ecstasy; 
  
 lose my balance
 with each schism and tremor.
  
 I carve your golden name
 into tree bark with rust;
  
 silence the palpitations
 of an organ grown weary.
  
 I lick what is left
 after your cup runs dry;
  
 lament in the night
 over what never was born.
 
  
 Hemorrhage
  
 Dark in the belly of hunger
  
 A way out
 of the whale
  
 waiting in slumber
  
 Watery wombs and tombs
 between us
  
 Winter masks/summer shades
 quiet desperation
  
 Holding our breath
 as lungs fill/collapse
  
 The final fall
 hits (hurts) hardest
  
 Black in the night of no moon
  
 A new taste
 of the silence
  
 promises of smoke
  
 Eyes with specks and beams
 that blind us
  
 Autumn tears/springtime gasps
 ring hollow
  
 Biting our tongues
 as blood flows/fails
  
 The ancient smile
 slips (snaps) loudest

 
 

Scott Thomas Outlar lives and writes in the suburbs outside of Atlanta, Georgia. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. He was a recipient of the 2017 Setu Mag Award for Excellence in the field of literature. Selections of his poetry have been translated into Afrikaans, Albanian, Dutch, Farsi, French, Italian, Kurdish, and Serbian. His podcast, Songs of Selah, airs weekly on 17Numa Radio. More about Outlar’s work can be found at 17Numa.com.