Riptide

He had baby’s breath,
And was dressed in woman’s flesh.
There was a sparkle in his lips,
A glint in the eye, like cracked emeralds.
He was another Hannibal,
A purge of a riot,
A twitch buried under charisma,
A lure in the open world.

Spat sputters and mumbled mutters,
Out the mouth of an average Joe,
With an average life, blue-collared.
No longer hidden, a new phase hollered.
Now a Freudian state of mind exposed,
A dormant instinct liberated,
Ready to devise, a fucking smart horse.
He adopts a fake name and fake remorse,
Bangs on the door and wipes his shoes on the floor.
“Father,” he calls,
“Yes, Oedipus,”
“Where’s Mother?”
And the night carried on,
Without another stutter.