It's an Oedipal
kind of justice when i kiss
him on your pillow
and your swift-footed
temper is such that seeing
us now, you'd blind him
or you, or me. see
that's the thing about your sword:
it could land in my
eye or your sad arm.
the rusty miniature
of which i found in
your bags during one
of the days you said you would
go away and get get cured.
no one asks the gods
to drive oedipus to blind
wrath and blank eyes but
the finality,
sweet finality of it,
we will not deny
No comments:
Post a Comment