That's Peanuts

By Thomas Scott Outlar

Pink Floyd tossed a purple spear

carving out the spleen

of my frenzied Pearl Jam apocalyptic

tendencies to drink spent waves

when warm machines click silent red


and if it’s in print then it lives

breathing through the ancient wires

ingrained as memes of our DNA urge

to reflect light with more than just mirrors


What you sing is electrically embedded

in the code of my insatiable sphere

I’m not a Luddite but still carry a Walkman

for a sense of fleeting innocence

rather than a crucifix


The necessity of tomorrow burdens

each step stumbled along the path

to honor the fire some monkey sparked

when monsters still roamed the night unkempt


Maybe God has a say

in the matter-of-fact tone

you stomp around with at the pulpit

while whimpering about a mangled war

or maybe that’s a genie theory

that shouldn’t be rubbed

in such a nonchalant fashion

when the wound is still scabbed over


Plastic organic mechanic systems

double down the cost of beams

buried in our bloodshot eyes

so be careful what you beg for

because the bill arrives wrapped in silver


Published on April 17th, 2023




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