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?

dust

Dust falls

it falls everywhere

like snow in the forest

do you hear it?

silently it accumulates

patiently appearing

as if by magic

out of nowhere

then it begins its search

under chairs, behind bookcases

without foot steps

it creeps up and ensnares

hair: dog, cat hair, human hair

spider webs

skeletons of fantastic structures

I witness this

having also fallen

not able to move

with eyes slowly glazing over

slowly being covered

by the falling dust