When Oedipus sees a ****** love
And holds hands in his womb
You'll find me ripe with love
Mary's little protégé
Glowing with hatred.
................................................
She comes up gasping for air
A lucid smile plastered on her pure face
Finely ground, strong as coffee, worn and burt.
A sacrilegious offering.
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It's days like this
When the air is sharp and rips my lungs with glass
(sharper than his eyes once were)
That I mistake myself for a *****.
................................................
For infinity, or so, I will walk this coast
One step after another
Feet friendly with the hard ground
Back burning with arrows flung down from a suspended Hell.
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Is Hell a place or state of mind?