Neurotic tics that wink;
Encouragement it needs.
Too push it even deeper to the top.
Your doctor knows how much.
And in sleep the window opens,
even wider.
Do you cross your legs in therapy.
Are they open wide.
Do you stare outside his window,
at some tree.
The noises that you make, does he hear.
Do the questions that he asks all end in why.
He will always suspect that as a child you were.
Then he probes a little deeper does he not.
Close your legs now get it up and walk right out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem