frequently i dream
of dilapidated houses,
porches buckle
under white snow

(sometimes my mother lives there)

many rooms fill these houses
all sparsely furnished,
yellowed wallpaper peeling
and stairs that give up
halfway through
collapsing into a splintery slide
into darkness

freud was once there at the bottom
waiting to catch me
at least i think it was him -
older man, cigar, white hair and beard,
the glasses

i wanted to ask him
what it all meant,
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