The Gestalt Poem by RIC BASTASA

knowing that it will
suffer the same fate as
Oedipus
he puts himself inside
a box
puts a hole for a window
enough for him
to breathe and perhaps
live for a while
until this horrible thing
happens, he grows tendrils
all over his body,
with roots for armpits
and nerves,
and what cannot be stopped
eventually is his coming out
of the box
as a vine, at the end
he ends up
craving for the sun

heliotrope, that is what he
is, darkness could have
killed him,
wife of this father,
who he wanted killed.

his leaves are made of wax
all trunks melted... and so he
has become too disconnected,
puzzle pieces, not fitting in
to a whole picture,

jigsawed...gestalt.