I No Longer Dance With Freud

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I No Longer Dance With Freud
(Sestina)

I've spent my years in a spinning dance
pointing my finger at Mother.
Each day an extended dream,
or a whirlwind of madness
in a life of imagination.
I am Freud's perpetual child.

That is, if I ever was the child
who learned to do the wiggle dance
deep within her imagination.
Child that listened to Mother,
who would whisper about the madness,
that was neither nightmare nor dream.

I was told, I existed in a dream,
one lost and sexual child.
Who sipped at the cup of madness,
and learned to love the games and dance.
Doctor may I, may I Mother,
play in my imagination?

I will not waste imagination,
trying to analyze the dream,
Or the one chance act of my Mother,
which would make me the orphan child.
Who would never be able to dance,
but drown in a quicksand madness.

I've lain on the couch of madness,
starving my imagination.
Bound by the feet unable to dance,
while they chipped away at my dream.
Which left me as a motherless child,
and a reflection of my Mother.

Looking at my image, then Mother,
I speak about the madness,
of one woman no longer a child,
who freed her imagination.
So, she could wiggle in her dream,
and laugh in a spinning dance.

Poor Mother has no imagination
just a whisper of madness and a colorless dream.
While I the orphaned child of Freud, will dance.