Mammoth

Drawn inexplicably toward
indifference,
an apathetic state,
a gray crystalline kind of weight,
a sort of beacon pointing home

where purpose is a luxury
for the many who go blindly,
yet ever so certain, kindly
into the false sublime
of hope

and there on a precipice hanging,
a mammoth to this waking,
dream witness to the
aching, flowing tepid through
the soul.