Oedipus at Work
I'm reliving a page long unturned in my mind.
I'm jerking off in my teenage bedroom.
I had seen my mother naked
in the shower…
just a mistake, a matter
of an unlocked fate - nothing really,
yet that image lingers on
as a gatecrashing life-video.
I have prayed to that blank-faced reaper,
(he with his darkly tinted tabula raza),
for a clean reset,
or at least a selective amnesia,
yet a visual memory will dissolve
only to reform again before my inner eye.
Ever since,
young Oedipus has begun to dig,
determined unto death to bury a vision.
Sixty years later
he is still hard at work.
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