Dream of Freud’s Wolfman

The window opens of its own accord.

He’s catapulted forward; waked.

Outside, the walnut tree is hung with wolves

Each to its branch; they watch him

Blankly. Stillness has its

Consequence. They are fat

As lambs ready for castration; round

As dogs; white as mother’s underdrawers.

Such tails! Thick tails

Perked and listening!

Blue snow rumples up the bedclothes; stiffens

Into plaster. This sky leads nowhere.

The child’s eyes are frozen like the window

They do not close; this tree

Is butchered at the crown; it will

Not grow.

The wind that frosts the room is welcome

Stirring like a scream and like a scream

It alters what it sees.

The wolves levitate.

What they know the child

Must discover.

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