The Empty Spaces Behind Cracked Walls by Brett Stout

With spoiling sidewalk razor blades
and
narcissistic subjective idealism
I wanted to scar something
pretty
so I desecrated the world’s face,

salted
and cured coronets
the illuminated thigh and buttock
of a castrated hog
on
the river Ganges
ogres in office buildings
dirty white collared shirts
and rebuffed tailors
an hourglass trickles
the eleventh hour for
cross dressers and black horses
the cat guts play
on the rowdy violins of Jim Crow
stained fingertips
childbirth stigmata
lazarus
sitting comfortably
on the sidelines of a suburban soccer game
any town USAbBurnt oatmeal for Osiris
A good morning to
dead salamanders in perpetual
motion
a heretic’s toast
to marmots and wandering Jews
cry wolf
and run Forrest
until reaching metamorphosis,

with spoiling sidewalk razor blades
and
narcissistic subjective idealism
I wanted to scar something
pretty
so I desecrated the world’s face.


Brett Stout is a 33-year-old writer and artist. He is a high school dropout and former construction worker turned college graduate and Paramedic. He writes while mainly hung-over on white lined paper in a small cramped apartment in Myrtle Beach, SC. He published his first novel of prose and poetry entitled “Lab Rat Manifesto” in 2007.