Oedipus back-to-front –

Stinging eyes; got salt-water eye-lashings from visions of wet DNA on rocks after half-past naked surfing in a jellyfish sea, then, a cantilever arms and ankle grinding march – ‘Away! monotony of Atlas form!’
Too late, sand-mounds gather and lump, contrition demanded, extracted from exposed veterans.
Prison is a concept, prisons going down, prisons keeps weak from strong.
In that sea, not quaint blue coral at all, but ArmaLite-surfing army and mercenary jellyfish school with mouthwash poison to spray over careless clowns eating sunshine.
How it was and went and how it has to be in that hot climate with danger flags stapled to thumb-less two-fingered lifeguards.
Lessons in the sun on human form and mind can break weak, can supplant strong, then civilisation rots from view, look at those skyscrapers falling into the sea, although nearest one, twenty-three miles away.
Take my hand, lead me astray, spectrum of disconcerting derision; it’s all that’s left.
Can’t make sense of car park arrangements, it has a machine for money, won’t take my coin, but I’ll take you to it, prove my point to you, then, will you take me to that café that sells degraded replica Eiffel Towers’.
Back to the seashore we go! surfboards in VW Beetles dream, The Beach Boys and the band played-on through the electric stereo within dash-of-board, not the surfboard, the car bores, and I’m bored just getting my Oedipus back-to-front.
I want to kill my Mother now.

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