I sang to my Father
on his deathbed.
He had not spoken a word
in days, cancer-ridden,
organs collapsing, high on morphine,
but I knew he could still hear me.
I sang a song
from a book I’d written
years earlier during a particularly
good time in my life, and this,
being a particularly dark time,
seemed like the right time
to balance the dualistic energies.
I don’t think
I gave such considerations
that much thought
at the time; I was just sad
and wanted to sing, wanted
my Father to hear my voice
in a deep bass tone
that mirrored his own.
I sang a song called Home.
I sang it with all my soul,
as a goodbye note
to the most important person
I have ever known.
Return of the Fission
Prometheus tasted the fire
on the tip of my tongue,
too explosive to steal,
and he wept like a broken god
hanging on the galactic cross
as the sky lost all light,
dimming under the weight of darkness,
waiting for the next eruption
while space folded inward upon itself
into a state of entropy.
I only exhale
when the goddess begs for warmth,
and my breath is nuclear
in a field of salted earth…
planning to erect pillars in her honor
as the heavens roar
and the blanket of oblivion
stretches out to cover us in kisses of absolution.
Two fish swim through the ocean above us,
pissing wine from the barrel of Aquarius,
and Dionysus dances in maddened revelry,
cackling along with the chaos
of our orgasmic frenzied fervor
as the focus of my two eyes is shattered…
the blinded orbs roll back in my head
to touch a zero-point ascension –
a crescendo, a climax, a cancer,
a new wave cometh to burn.
Scott Thomas Outlar hosts the site 17Numa.wordpress.com where links to his published poetry, fiction, essays, interviews, and books can be found. He recently received three Pushcart Prize nominations for his work in 2016. Scott is a member of The Southern Collective Experience. He serves as an editor for Walking Is Still Honest Press, The Blue Mountain Review, and The Peregrine Muse.
July 11, 2017 at 10:41 pm
This is really a superb work.
His diction charming, captivating.
The first poem was pathetic—–like
A psalm to a death-shrouding father.
Really loved it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
July 13, 2017 at 11:51 pm
Reblogged this on 17numa and commented:
Thank you to Burning House Press for publishing two of my poems recently…