The dim lit wall screened figures, human forms,
Woman or man with long hair tangles
Sitting on horse, drifting on a floating home
A man stands on the banks with goggles


A lady with crook looks down through her nose
Laughing or mocking extends her hand deep-
Etchings; while by her side the siblings cling close
To their parents warm waving ******* in sleep.


The cold hands startle her being misplaced
Strangle holding breath she should faintly rhyme;
"Mom I,  can I have? your hand to embrace?"
For it would help her pass the sleep incline.


A heavy hot hand her mom would poke out
Snugging the hand she would squirt out high  
And fade into deep space like a rocket
Leaving behind flights of hot silent sigh.

But in the middle of nights intervals
She will feel her hands embracing the void
Then the vague fluid figures of mural marvels
Will smile or stare like sleepless wanton Freud


Long later in life she knew they were all
Forms of her gall painting her virtual role