Green Panties, ' Lips Cut Full Of Red Poem by James McLain

All washed-up, once more
again on shore,
against the old jagged rocks.

Running in and out again,
like the tide,
tossed out, far into.

Writing from my bed
of grey ashes, did I last
year, remember.

Tommorrow, 'yes tommorrow
I will see yours the doctor,
and after Monday.
My back hurts,
but that is just the small of it.

Why it hurts.
Again I ask 'are you drinking?

I know you are getting
exercised, while your bloody maries
celery and vitamins? '

Flatulation, each memory
of late last night.
Looking down the open window
I see green panties full of cuts.

The moon is propped up,
against my clean white pillow.