You have to go, to go. Push on, pushing on. I’m smoking a cigar inside. First time in years. I accidentally put it out in my son’s cereal bowl dish with my spit. I didn’t want that. I had fun lighting it again with a wooden match made of what the fuck fire.
I’m coming to terms with my life. I have terms and Life doesn’t. So we’re both sitting here with this cigar watching smoke. I once read that a blind man wouldn’t smoke because he couldn’t see the smoke rise around him. I get it. I wouldn’t smoke either if I couldn’t see the difference in each rising movement. Those columns are different each time so that’s where we’d miss the everything about what we wanted to be.
Anyway, I type so letters become words around thought.
When you truly live, your happenings are no accident.
When a thought can do what it’s suppose to do- let us begin.
It happened when our idea ran into the world
And the applause went silent-
Teaching us the violent stroke of luck-
Come boisterous men! Come shrieking vixens! Insert into the glass castle with the clearest of walls. The show awaits. Let opinions rage wildly. Of course, you are the only one. Become yourselves and let the audience bathe in your greatest volume, for the glass shimmers for a reason to shatter.
copyright 2016 -M. Taggart
The wind blows lightly across our thoughts-
Passed even the corner lot with the underbrush-
And further now than we can see-
Listen as your tears fall. They roll nice. They smell fine. It’s not your wisdom falling it’s your fading. Space found a place just now when you went thinking. -M. Taggart copyright 2016.