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by Scott Thomas Outlar / June 24th, 2018

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry
does not cut the blades of grass
growing in my plane of vision

Vanilla, vanilla, vanilla
I am just a simple man
spit out by this lock-turn system

Cycle, cycle
pick up trash and kiss the street light
when the glow burns red atomic

Mushroom
tastes of God and smoke and blackout
bleeding from the sea, electric

Scott Thomas Outlar is a lover of truth and enjoys researching philosophy, psychology, politics, spirituality, and any other facet of consciousness in the pursuit of reaching a higher state of vibration. He also enjoys writing rants, poems, essays, short stories, and prose-fusion screeds covering such subjects. Scott Thomas can be reached at 17numa@gmail.com. You can also watch and/or subscribe to his YouTube Channel. Read other articles by Scott Thomas, or visit Scott Thomas's website.

This article was posted on Sunday, June 24th, 2018 at 8:03am and is filed under Poetry.