Single circles walk until still, safe and being. Safe in the being was good until the circle walked out of itself. Confirmation smiles so nicely. Circles roll. We sit, nicely, we nod, hello, the temples thump again.
-M. Taggart
Single circles walk until still, safe and being. Safe in the being was good until the circle walked out of itself. Confirmation smiles so nicely. Circles roll. We sit, nicely, we nod, hello, the temples thump again.
-M. Taggart
I saw God sitting next to a tree. The rock waved. Asked about how things have been. When being seen and having a wave wasn’t so difficult to accomplish. One smile at a time, during Covid-war, a mask wasn’t enough to stop the kids at school from wanting to run. And run. and run they did until one of them opened the door, freely with no mask awaiting his tongue, “This is Fucking awesome.”
-M. Taggart
The kid was mine. He was five.
They created beauty and that’s where they lived. In the humility of uttering one word without accuracy. The one with the other.
-M. Taggart
We had a hard time today with the trigger and the mongering
looking like a door in the way of nothing yet sitting not still
in our minds while we drove: snow looks different when you
kill it- nothing looks so very much like exactly how they are-
do we think It did that on purpose? It’s most likely It was
all about not we, and how It puts It’s shoes on while forgetting.
-M. Taggart
The way words are written and how people write them and how they move in life and what I see is very much the same
said the frog
-M. Taggart
My treehouse with a thumb
talks with an image less than itself.
It mesmerizes mischief with Mayhem,
like a tree watching its own growth
on a ledge. Waterfall below. Thoughts
in between. Taking longer than expected,
the zipper of life made for a humble tremble.
-M. Taggart
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
And the levity of one example brought on the harm of another while watching stars, listening to ‘mind’, and fingers reading pages and pages and dusty pages turning to new pages smelling of ink while staring at a bar room wall with all sounds bouncing from ear to ear, some listening to this, some not, the bar pushes further, mouths drink and pages turn; lives of another might be yours someday, as she watches from the other side.
-M. Taggart
It was a different version of today without tomorrow, yesterday was gone too. Leaving a something option. “Gravity,” he said, “is used in ways we don’t understand; holding and un-holding themselves exactly where they want to be while everything else moves.” To conceal is to prove a whisper can turn to life. The holding of time isn’t a hand.
-M. Taggart
COL/DT