GWEE LI SUI

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OEDIPUS

A road is a false exit,
an annex of a Freudian building.
A building is a dream exterior,
a life similarly lit.

These, secret to the door -
the road not dividing or joining,
the building not awake, awakeable -
are your continuous floor.

Yet, as if from conscious theft,
you will run out of one, into one.
You no longer risk recognizing
an ordeal that has never left.