Gestalt's Elephants

They move,
Out of the distance,

Giants,
Like memory,

The color of earth

Cut off,
And lost.

Proverbially ingrained,
Bred into
Wanderings that stir,

Deep in the psyche,
An awe of

Stone Age habits,
In the face of the machined spectacle.

Like Guilt

Out of the Otherworld,
She comes.

Mystified.

By the hot,
Muggy Morning
That clings to the naked form

& refuses to be ignored.

Baring a powerful Sadness,
Fueled by a Secret,
Certain memory

One that drips.
Collects,

Forms pools,
Full of righteous indignation
That serves only to mettle the soul
& trick it into saying,

“That’s the way it goes.”