An Alternative Ending

The film sound stage quieted. The director squirms in his seat, as he whispers “action.” Lit on the dark stage, a figure sits in a soft winged chair contemplating a large cigar. His beard is neatly trimmed. His fin de siècle horn-rimmed glasses sets his face off from his comfortable gray flannel suit. Blowing a neat ring of smoke towards a figure reclining on an ornate chaise longue, he clears his throat trying to awaken the snoring actor. He finally casts his imploring gaze towards the director. It has been the thirty-seventh take and it is three thirty in the morning and everyone was very weary. The sleeping actor could not be roused. He was exhausted. Everyone was exhausted. They could go no further. The director gave in. “Cut, It’s a wrap.”

Freud my Archeologist

 


My Archeologist told me I am too deep
too compressed and too complicated

I flex my brain and attempt an expelling
of said deep, compressed complication

My Archeologist tells me next: fear not power
your own or others as well as might is right
power is but an illusion as well as dust

With precise optical brushes and miniscule velvet pickaxe
the dig has begun without my consent or desire

My Archelologist reaches out to me with gloved hand
confidently turns my wrist over to expose my veins
and touches each visible blue ghost with tenderness

Ach du lieber gott......
I have no fear
Just a thought
Will there be tea and toast afterwards?