For Freud

I didn’t mean to imply a girl is nothing
More than a jewel box. Imagine
The rough brush of the horsehair chair,
The soft brush of wanting

To rescue reason from dizziness, some cue,
The tempting answer to, What shall I do?
What shall I be of? The lower rank
Of the snapshot as compared to

The sepia print in the frame.
A milder feeling hovers over me. I’m dead,
Leibchen. What does it matter, that
The Great Wall of China has become an example

Of middle-period capitalism in action?
Think Carthage. Think of the strange
New Mexico spaceship
Some people say they’ve seen.

Saucer disk. Anna, kiss me. She won’t
Stop mourning. There is seldom but sometimes
That sort of love. Where the one in the chair
At the end, puts on your greatcoat and cries.