Freud as Prophecy
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
The nightmare slams. It slimes, a dream set in
An underground crevasse carved out by flow
Of voodoo-like subconscious as a sin.
An undertow stream shape with blacklight glow
Has sliced the cavern out of carnal rock;
The dream is also filled with fangs that loom
Down low, with serpent eyes that hope to shock
Hypnotically. The river flows with doom
Much darker than the color of the black
Of scales on snakes. The current knows no end.
No flight is possible. The cavern’s crack
Cuts down to gaping fate at every bend.
I did not comprehend the cobras then
But now I know that they morphed, spitting men.
~ Phillip Whidden