Therapy with Freud During a Siesta Part 2

[Poetry In Motion]

Anyway here is my revision, hope you like it now.


During therapy I made a list about what keeps
me on my tippy-toes when I sit, I spread my legs with my
toes upwards like a Thai mistress.
Freud was throwing up his hands complaining, Austrian style.
I thought I would catch more air through my mouth
as that could keep me vigilant and awake.
I guess when your the target of psychosis
you got to stay with the pros.
I wondered if these feelings I had for him were real.
Ethereal, special, mostly special, I was the ultimate queer.

I trusted him in his attempts to cure me.
I was alright, alright he was my doctor.
Forever the figure who amalgamates reason like a philosopher.
His philosophy and desire to work is relatively divine
by working with other patients is what makes it divine.
I need to check out what he has in store for me
when all I have left is my reason to blow a kiss to him.
What I feel for Freud is that he is special.
Someone around me must feel the same way too.
Others might not understand, understand my ways.
Freud is my master, the big boss, my universe.
Nothing can take him away from me.