Oedipal Color

Burns of yesterday and arms too cramped to spell and spilling tears that the day will not set free struggle to breathe beneath my parched, tight eyelids and the pressing of before without any reason. (Rubbings of blue will paint me all in those Oedipal colors) and the one blessed slash that comforts and disappoints at the same moment-- my only solace and my reason to fear (Much like HE was in the recesses of my imagination!)

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And thoughts of the beginning of this book (among others) won't seem to leave me alone... tormenting with their plastic pounding yellow beaks (throughout the muddied Corinthian tops).

And the tears slide up and down my throats, sent by the liver (torn from a baby's cry) And infinitely shamed about how reckless I was on Friday night.

NOW to embarrass myself when I was supposed to be making up for it...