In
these days of straight rails, Fabius Lind
Is not awake.
He strays for hours , for days,
And dreams of pure isn'ts.
A time that isn't ,
A land that isn't,
People that aren't,
A Fabius Lind who doesn't exist.
He could have . . .
He could have ...
Yes, yes, he could have!
The desire , the thought, flies away on an uninvited wind
And comes back in a ball of smoke.
The calculating mind has never served well Fabius Lind.
J.
L.
Teller (1912- 1972)
LETTER TO SIGMUND FREUD
How was the weather on that day?
With how many colors did the sunset burn?
Was it in Vienna or in Paris
When inside you like lightning, struck
The Do's and Don'ts
Of your Psychoanalysis?
A narrow street. As through a funnel
The sun dripped.
Suddenly - terrified horses
Behind you.
