Poem – Cubicle Heads #pros

As a child I rode the bus to school.
I would crawl under the large green seats
and slither my way, under and around legs,
sneakers, boots, and the giggles of my friends.

I liked the dirt that covered my clothes
from the floor of the bus.
I liked the feeling of breaking the rules.

I think of the first office I worked in after
graduating college. I think of how many
cubicles fit into the square footage of the office
and about how I looked when poking my head
above the cubicle wall; always, there would be
at least one other head doing the same thing,
no doubt wondering how to break out of this
matrix and go back to crawling under seats
while listening to the giggles and laughter of

-M. Taggart


Try to think why you know it,
why you feel it,
why you remember.
A piece of paper has
something about none of this
and a little of you finds more of
nothing than a paper.

-M. Taggart

(Love you Gavin. You were in my office asking me to not break your new snake while I wrote this.) 1/16/20

Make your own

It’s 30 degrees. This is literally what I’m doing right now. Mid-day, Friday November the 8th. We’re burning downed  branches on our property. Megan just went inside to take a shower. And yes, that’s whiskey in the background.

I live an enchanted life. If my childhood torture taught me anything, it’s that societal rules don’t actually exist.

Make your own.



We’re on to something here.

Aren’t we?

The hitch, the ever present self
puzzling over deliveries of deja vu
Placing clarity over never

It’s as if we’ve nearly got it


Maybe some do,
And maybe my coffee is burnt.


-M. Taggart

poem – tiny little times

My memory works in images
I see them, replay them, feel them
This is how I find things that are ‘lost’
I hope I never come to be without myself
that might be a bit of an issue
For now though, I’ll continue
wondering if I’m truly getting older
or if the days are getting longer
stretching this matrix into oddly shaped
happenings, placed, filed, and organized
into tiny little images to review later on.

-M. Taggart

cheers everyone

Poem – tell me about reality

Nothing like reading a book and watching words bend.
You know it isn’t real,
but they bend anyway.

Kind of like when you’re nearly asleep
and feel something touch you.
No one’s there, but
you felt what you felt.

Happened to me the other night.
I wasn’t asleep.
Something sat down next to my feet
at the end of the bed

I didn’t bother to move
I acknowledged mentally
what had happened
and now it’s a memory

Just like now,
Gavin is in the other room
He’s supposed to be taking a nap
instead he’s playing with a dinosaur
and telling stories
His voice raises and lowers
and now this is also
a memory

-M. Taggart


In a glitch of serendipity
footprints outside the window,
never imprinted by my own,
speak on the lines of self imprisonment.
It’s been a long winter, they whisper,
I think I’ll go outside now.

-M. Taggart


Odd Walking Thoughts

My thoughts are tied into a bundle of hands holding cries that never mattered because I don’t know them. She stepped into a puddle. The water was mixed with fine particles of dust; the leaves fell so nicely from the sky she wanted everything about them, while the sun kept repeating that the puddle was there.

-M. Taggart