Confession—
that is the only word
that comes to mind
when I hear
the word therapist.
No—wait.
A dark little chamber appears as well:
a priest
and a groaning child.
O spiritual father
in the robes of pseudo-science!
You are not the Christ
of Christ Recrucified1.
You are the cross itself—
to which
the hands of life
are nailed.
You—
remnant of Freud’s complexes2,
beneath the f…