"Planet B," "J/King JC," and "Dancing at the Dawn of the Ball"

Planet B

What happens when chaos becomes beautiful?
When the lightning falls,
when the old guard topples,
when the broken bell tolls
for the final time?
What happens when dreams fail…
for the piper, for the pusher,
for the parasite class?
What happens when the blood
starts pouring
through the streets?
When the oil spills,
when the currency crashes,
when the ash
of empire
is shoved
down the throat
of Judas?
What happens when the tables turn
and the cries
about wolves
are all silenced?



J/King JC

I will stride
   displaying competence
       through all hours
                of my day
skipping around
       muttering the most basic
         & pulling them off as holy
& then (of a sudden
                    after smoking)
                                            I’ll grow
                     in the deepest degrees of paranoia
           w/my khaki and silver
     moods & subtle shifts
                          of diplomacy (on &/or off/under
                                                             the table)
Pick up your feet
when you’re walking
when you’re dancing
when you’re levitating
when you’re at one atop water
                       (any mention
                                     of ascension)
but who am I
    to spit in this river
                 when there’re still
        a thousand + one sinning souls
                        crying like babes
                                 to be saved?



Dancing at the Dawn of the Ball

If ever there were
          a time (& place/spatial awareness)
    to tie your own shoelace
                or get/mend your life

                         straight (& set in order)
now would be the perfect cue to act
     final offer
     before it’s all written off
     as a failure
I only give advice (when prompted)
        that I had to earn/learn/acquire myself
I don’t just run my mouth
                            for pleasure
nor do I care
           to cause/create (or even stir
                                          a single lick
                                                 of drama)
but I’d rather
        spend a long season
   vomiting forth
              the poisons of truth
than watch you
                  & bow before
          your own death bed
                               (ruined in deceit
                                               & disrepair)
Sleeping w/Moebius
   waking no longer
       w/a crypt (creature) keeper
   called as Thanatos
               holding space (safe or otherwise)
         for all ten (righteous) rings/tolls
                      of karma’s bell



Scott Thomas Outlar

Scott Thomas Outlar originally hails from Atlanta, Georgia. He now resides and writes in Frederick, Maryland. His work has been nominated multiple times for both the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. He guest-edited the Hope Anthology of Poetry from CultureCult Press as well as the 2019-2023 Western Voices editions of Setu Mag. Selections of his poetry have been translated and published in 15 languages. He has been a weekly contributor at Dissident Voice for the past ten years. More about Outlar's work can be found at 17Numa.com.


Edited for Unlikely by Jonathan Penton, Editor-in-Chief
Last revised on Thursday, June 22, 2023 - 20:39