poem

There’s one thing we can all do,
and it starts in the mirror.
Stretches along the floor
to our next nearest loved one.
And that’s where they can’t stop any of us.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

I know how I am, said the rock, as it listened to the sun every day. The moon too had words. The rain, the wind, the time. I know who I am. Said the rock. As it slowly slid toward the stream. The water waiting to engulf and drown the visions of tomorrow from a wayward version of today. I know who I am, said the rock as it was picked up by a young boy during the middle of the day. It was cloudy, with little much of anything to see in the way of rays, and the boy took the rock inside his home and inside his bedroom and inside his heart and mind. The rock was placed just above the boy’s head. A nook. Of mind and soul. And the rock found the he hadn’t known himself well at all, really. Not at all.

-M. Taggart

Things aren’t always what they seem

“Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.” – Einstein

Poem

In my opinion-
Death is a syndrome of being alive.
And reality is afraid of nothing.
it never was.

-M. Taggart

My apologies

I’m woefully behind on catching up with everyone. I will get caught up. See you soon!

Matt

This platform and the people I’ve met have literally enriched my life.

Who is the sky

Woah.

My reply, Lucy.

and also the men who are too large, walking. hurting, toward the store
and the women who sit in their cars, windows nearly closed, smoke
everywhere and they see me looking at you, in my phone, while I’m
none of them and also everything they are and here we all sit
Wondering about how the soft shuffling of a heavy foot can make
it to the entrance of the store, one with a door that opens for them,
knowing they are hurt. And maybe think about their death.
I see in them what they hate about themselves and I feel.

-M. Taggart

Poem

Some people seem hurt in the brain
and I can’t help but notice that

-M. Taggart

Poem

I won’t put a hand on my thought
As though a book has a piece of paper
placed on top
and we all know it’s wrong
while we listen to the dryer sounding off

-M. Taggart

Poem

The crevice has opened-
Eyeing the tips of trees, as
much as they wanted,
much more than they need.

-M. Taggart