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Brent Kincaid Feb 2017
Someone put an elephant
In the middle of my room
To capture conversations
And often predicting doom
Or bragging about something
That it has never done.
This pachydermal pestilence
Certainly is not much fun.

I try to keep things secret
And pretend that they’re not there
Then all of a sudden, ****,
An elephant from somewhere.
I try to deny its existence
Laugh and talk around it all
But the thing is an elephant
Is really not that small.

Then once someone visits
They find it difficult to pretend
That the elephant is not there.
So much for helpful friends.
So, I make up stories to try
To deftly explain things away
But some things are too obvious
No matter what words I say.

Some just give up and leave me
To be the same fool as I act.
But, others get up in my face
And try to deliver some fact.
So, I can’t really be upset
With those who are in my group
But that doesn’t help me clean up
The disgusting elephant ****.
Niel Nov 2020
Pachydermal memories, sticky adhesions
Loosening the reigns of thoughtful ride
Outsourced skills seeping the membranes
In an amniotic suspension
The quest lays in retaining
Not to drain, yet keep momentum
As a leak at the bottom of the ocean
The strain refills
Full-filling circulation



The gentleman swims in the crowd
           Of his metropolitan pathways
              Imbibing, desirous affections
             Afflicting self response modes
           I shall surely like to be there
         But the train ceases to brake

Or abide. The subway scatters island thoughts
Motioning exward, refusal to mesh

          Though in mirth we blend
  Against the parent in congress with the goal
        Aligned with their strife
     He watch, the office traffic’s
  Yellow bleeding before all signal
Yet pushes forward pileups
His symptoms pertain; uneasy persisting exquisite

— The End —