in the realm of the living

stood between
mist and cloud

between clouding blood
and wailing grief
fury burns, all aboard

the westbound train, for a time
my uncle kept at        his dying

coming around
rattling chains 

American Beauty
sleek black ram
a sword to drink

blood honey
milk and wine
descent into wind

his son took
to the bedroom air

crossed into the
gates of sleep

they slapped his
purple fingers awake

isn’t that a funny
accident, upon finding his father
a request

to not resuscitate, death passed
through one into the other, one

breath passed between, i mean
wouldn’t you describe that as funny

The Paschal Lamb

Depicted without allusion is considered best
Considered finest

You’ll have to tell me
About death, and I was trying

Like a flower that casts no shadow
Like what we know about love

In its highest form of expression
2020 de-arresting a portland protestor

In winter I fight it
Violating the Judy Garland Pavilion

Can we improve on the form
Of a sacred text
In the room a big bed

Eating and being a cunt
— disappointing
You’d have done so differently

Ferried along streams of information
Liking the ass of my ex’s girlfriend

Attention is the substance of love
Grenade launcher rifle attachment

My body holds no expertise
A corrupted and imprecise recording

You state a position, I switch positions
I’ll admit I am partial to adornment

Sagebrush, vetiver and rot
Permanent Californians


Scout is a Pushcart-nominated poet and recipient of the Leijia Hanrahan Scholarship for Communist Women Smokers. They are rarely bored.