He took a couch that had belonged to his wife....
- NPR’s The Writer's Almanac, May 6, 2008
I’ve strung paper lanterns around my room like garlic
and climbed onto a huge wooden horse
penknifed with the names of Greek ghosts.
I will joust with the characters in the next graphic novel
that crosses my bath water.
I admit to doctoring phonebooks
and confessing best sellers to interim chairs.
I am responsible for the murder of crows on my front lawn.
Their cawing is peppered with references to the Oedipal Conflict.
It’s as unsettling as castration anxiety.
I can’t blame them, though.
They’ve been duped along with the rest of us -
duped into thinking all roads lead to orgasms.
My dreams are populated by gas guzzlers lining up at pumps.
My ex-wife had a closetful of pumps.
She kept them in their original boxes.
She had an affair with Freud.
They shared an affinity for cigars.
Freud borrowed his wife’s couch
and set up shop with Josef Breuer.
I found a footnote that characterized Freud’s wife as a whiner.
She wanted to invest their Deutsche Marks in a winery.
Freud opted instead for a tobacco plantation.
To him, everything was a cigar.
Freud’s wife demonstrated the use of a Pocket Rocket for Anna O.
Freud and Breuer watched speechless.
It occurred to them that talking was the cure.
They called it The Talking Cure.
Freud, his wife, and Breuer became known
as The Talking Threesome.
They had a successful run in Vaudeville.
Because of Freud,
glass menageries have been targeted by PETA.
