Midnight Tusks

like a disciple

Honed and focused
on truth and love

And sins be damned
then also forgiven

A care-free spirit
wed and rooted to earth

The heron has landed
owl hanging from beak

Devoured the higher wisdom
and cut both wings to join the game

A gentle wind eternal salve
spit fire in those boiling guts, bub

Two x two x two x two
until the rhythm hammers skull

Dig the depths of born-again thoughts
little laboratory where consciousness spews

Beg a breath to silence form
etch a sketch wiped for next design

Abyss, void, cancel, critique
chew a tooth around the spiral

Weeping willows know the score
heavy shoulders and sturdy spine

Peepers popped white as ivory
protective sheath cloaks the longest dusk

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.