13 by Scott Thomas Outlar

Lucky number 13
is where the magic starts,
it’s where the fun begins,
despite what the occult numerologists
might try to dissuade you with
during their rap about bad mojo –
nah ah, no way, there is no curse
of corruption
surrounding
such a sacred symbol.
13 is where the war kicks off,
it’s where the action is;
13 is the guts of the cancer,
it’s the heart of the matter;
13 is the broken window pane,
it’s the black cat under the ladder;
13 is the dragon’s scaly tail,
it’s the well that won’t run dry.
13 is a nuclear bomb.
13 is an evolving virus.
13 is spilled red wine on new white carpet.
13 is the pregnancy as it’s aborted.
13 is a horror flick coming alive.
13 is Hitler in his heyday.
13 is the sun’s last cycle.
13 is an eternal black night of silence.
13 is the last gasp from collapsed lungs.
13 is the final solution,
it’s the endgame made manifest;
13 is the wrong choice at the wrong time,
it’s the karma so unforgiving;
13 is the implosive entropy,
it’s where the party dies.

Scott Thomas Outlar survived both the fire and the flood – now he dances in celebration while waiting on the next round of chaos to commence. Otherwise, he keeps things fairly chill, spending the days flowing and fluxing with the tide of the Tao River, laughing at life’s existential problems, and writing prose-fusion poetry dedicated to the Phoenix Generation. His work has appeared recently in venues such as Section 8 Magazine, Dead Snakes, The Chaffey Review, Corner Club Press, Black Mirror Magazine, Dissident Voice, and The Kitchen Poet. Scott’s first attempt at a blog is 17Numa.wordpress.com.