Odd Walking Thoughts

All of the ugliness is why. It’s why we sit in front of reflecting windows, looking, wanting; a push of a something is more than nothing, it’s what we wish to be-
while the word of the ready readies, “I miss you,” normalizing time, crackling, being, and seeing the window watching ourselves turn to stone like the un-shifting; unwillingly we see it so nebulously, we crawl.

Odd walking thought

I like to drink beer and cut down trees with a chainsaw. I see them better that way. And when that one falls I find another. A fold of a rock finds us best when judgment seems to be grey, not otherwise; Watch now, at the walk we walk, as we calm our minds and listen to the brave sing.

-M. Taggart

 

 

Odd Walking Thoughts – The Third Whisper

A smile can float from one to another without permission, as the can kicks the boy’s boot just after she grinned in his direction while the run-on wind carries with it a notice which harbors the reasoning for understanding the whisper of the third in line of the trinity even when there’s no wind at all- don’t you see.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts – Transition

“Does a door know the other side of itself if never opened? I’m not sure. What if we are that while viewing a mirror. Who’s who and what’s when?” The man sat upright in his bed. It was late and the room was dark. His thoughts, spinning wildly out of control, pushed for his reality to pause itself with fear of acknowledgment of what’s to come. It was time for transition. Time to leave what was for what now is, and he wasn’t ready.
“Am I a door? And where’s my mirror? I’ll look at it in the dark.”

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

Our own thoughts came around again. Funny how that happens. A floor holding an image of a mirror came back. Someone wanted something. Watch as the floor says nothing, having seen twice what was once, and then watch as the voice asks for more.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

Lay us near the side of our brook. We’ll listen and observe a thing burn inside, like we did. Turn again in the mud, smell the ferns, wash the ‘self’, and watch as soul sinks in. Man in a white coat wants to ask how, doesn’t matter much. He’ll be here, or not, again. Seems to us a brook is a fine place to be. It’s always about something. So we see, and we do what there is to do about the seeing until, finality.

-M. Taggart

 

Odd Walking Thoughts

Self, I’ll be me. Knife looked fine ignoring. Some lights aren’t as bright as others. And some stars burn less hot purposefully, not needing the stage. Isn’t the crisp air just that. While so many balls of eyes watch the non-adjusted. Droplets of water, with their delicate prisms, have a more clear view.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts – The Nothing

A boy sits in his hectic mental lane waiting for the nothing to come. Where finally his mind is released and feels empty but not alone. Weightless and gone from the everything. The wind blew, shuffling the branches, he, hardly noticing felt the oncoming of the nothing and the wind was in the way.  -M. Taggart

poem – leftovers

In town is a bench viewing a man chewing his brain,
with little resources to find his thoughts; the bench cared nothing
for the perfectly structured oak tree whimpering in the chilly wind,
instead the bench wished to be ripped from its foundation and
connected to the man with the unruly thoughts. There at least
might live something, even if not holy in nature, possibly there
was hope. The man teetered, then steadied himself by grasping
the oak tree, “Aren’t you the friend I need,” the man said while
grinding his teeth and gazing upward and through the leftover
leaves.

-M. Taggart