Topic

Jung at Heart

Poetry playing at psychoanalysis – without intending to succeed.

Provenance

The dealer has photographed it against a white wall and given it the caption: Norwegian, a maker, a year, a chair built for lying back, for going under. When bare rooms were the fashion I thought it hideous. Now it is the kind of thing people collect. I knew it

Some material is elsewhere, under consideration. It has opinions about timing.

Dream of my Dogs

I dreamed last night of impossible births, grey feathers shifting to fur, chirps dancing beneath a strange oak table. My two – Sig and Doof – lying there, old eyes glistening with the weight of years, straining to give me their young. Yet only strange half-creatures came. I whispered to them,

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We do not interrupt by email.

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