Poetry of Issue #8        Page 89

Psychotherapy

jung put his dreams on a plane
with his wife & kids
watching from the runway

as they took flight then back
to work or so he thought caught
in the violent airflow lifted

by his coattails he flew
outside the plane
zu hilfe he shrieked clinging

to the wing with one hand
propeller whirling like a clock
gone completely out of whack

banging on the window
with the other zu hilfe zu hilfe
he howled over coughing

clamoring engines
up the sky’s ladder he slipped
through fishlike clouds

into the sun crying yet no one
not emma with her beads franz
with his pencil puzzle nor

helene with her secret diary noticed
only his dreams wild-eyed
paralyzed heard him but they

speaking a language
all their own couldn’t
quite grasp what he meant

  Matt Morris