Odd Walking Thoughts

Cloudy whispers sank near the window asking for more. We held our mind under steam filled moments screaming. No more doors without locks. No more drawers to be pulled. The brushes and combs were dead while everything else looked on.

 

-M. Taggart

And Honest Rapport –

I write what I know. I’ve learned that I enjoy people who don’t tell about what they don’t know. So, it turn, I write what I know while avoiding what little I know not about. Somewhere in there lives a story. Not long ago I watched a man run over a blank spot in the snow which happened to be the artesian well. The electrical cord was cut cleanly enough. The man told me, “I don’t know a thing about how to fix this. But, I know a man who does.” He and I then shared a whiskey on his bar. The bar happened to reside in the house I grew up in and the man happens to be my mother’s husband. How little we know is not the measure of us. Not any of us. It’s the little we know that we are honest about that will be remembered.

Odd Walking Thoughts – The yellow

We walk in streets filled with people looking at their hands to find purpose when purpose looks back, but not from a hand. A drop of rain lands on the nose of a little girl. She smiles and tries to lick the drop. Her yellow rain jacket glistens while she jumps in a puddle to see her creation. ‘Mommy, did you see that?’ Her mother, didn’t see, ‘I’m busy reading.’ ‘But a rain drop landed right on my nose and then I couldn’t lick it. It dropped right into the puddle and I wanted to know where it was, but couldn’t tell, so I stomped on the puddle to find it and it’s definitely done being a rain drop.’ her smile looked at her mother while her mother looked at her hand.

-M. Taggart

 

Odd Walking Thoughts

It’s time to let sit what sits and watch. Memories comb our nerves while our sitting becomes lack thereof. A someone views a chair that moves at will upon two legs. They think about how eleven is only two lines standing next to one another, yet no one seems to notice. So they allow the chair to continue on. The chair is searching for a name while the walk of confidence has not ended.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

A time on a Wednesday wasn’t what we knew. Filing mindsets. Can you get up now. Can you piss. Can you speak. It is Wednesday. The wall gripped itself and ran down to the floor. We hadn’t seen that. -Somewhere the sun shines, smiling, like they ask for. Smiling at all of you. Smiling.

-M. Taggart

 

Odd Walking Thoughts

Listening to the rain. I’m home. The sands of time can go fuck themselves. Each of them. Home wasn’t always a thing I knew. Home was a faint whisper about Honesty and relief. Home was a deepening hole begging you to never tell. Never tell. As hushed mushroom grew in the shower. A blistering mouth spewed throbbing beginnings. – Listening to the rain it’s hard not to love. Now that I am home. And I am home.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

I need books to destroy myself and come back again. The boy walked along the brook. Trees were there. Wanting to know about books. His book held his hand and didn’t think at all. Aren’t we nicely composed and nicely alive enough to slice ourselves a thought or more. The boy wished he knew who could be a thought. Could I be a thought? It’s nice walking with brooks.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts-

He stood on a drop of water at seven years old looking at mushrooms growing on the shower wall. Wanting to know why they continue. Why does anything. There was no steam, not this time. He didn’t need to hide. The boy watched the shower water swirl down the drain. Wondering if Death ever asks permission. The mushrooms bloomed.

-M. Taggart

Thanks for reading.

Odd Walking Thoughts-

We looked in the mirror to rest now. Without you there would be no us. A nine year old held still, silently wishing. Scraping memory. It’s not living in the past when a trigger forces you live the past now. A hollowed tree bore resemblance to a face we once knew. The tree was dead now.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

I’ll see you when you remember me- the boy thought-  Be a mindless boy- be a mindless boy. A leaf landed in the pond. The pond rippled. The boy in the water wavered. The boy outside the water tilted his head, ‘but they said only true words hurt.’ He then reached toward the rippling face of himself with intent to disturb.

-M. Taggart
Don’t Steal My Shit.