Len Gurts Struggling With a Breakthrough

I walked into
the office of my therapist in a long winded fashion
whining
about my childhood and how
I had let it happen, which was not my fault,
but it was my responsibility to change, like this simile. We made
progress with my anger, which we focused on
after I got angry at her for laughing along with other people
years before. This was a clever intervention—a
treat—and it made me think of trees and woods:
how much better they’d be the other way round
for reasons
to do with source, which we also
touched on. I then brought up the fact that it was difficult that she wanted to sleep with me
to which she asked what I meant, which only
complicated matters, like bears in your wood: we agreed
I was childish. I would not have mentioned the poem
I wrote about this
to her, except that I then did, and she laughed
her trained laugh, taking it home for masturbation, which was like her window
of tolerance, only she wouldn’t admit that.