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
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
There’s a place to view. It’s beneath the floor. If you know this, it’s you. If another lays their head on this floor and finds your place, what then? We dove deep and saw much and now we ask the floor, “Why did you betray us?” and the floor replied, “We also were betrayed. Can you help?” It was early morning and the floor felt cool on the face. The floor shouldn’t be speaking but there wasn’t anyone else to ask.
Wild simplicity, that’s where you’ll find me; standing in a crowded forest fitted and overpopulated with vegetation, studying outstretched finger-like-needles reaching for further growth, not spewing only for lack of vocals, and all the while I’m standing, watching, learning- It’s only a forest, like all others, on a simple and mild day with nothing to see. Here.
How’s the room look today?
did you wash its thoughts
Are we speaking in systems about mouths rinsing and repeating how to be? Isn’t it nice to hear about how you are. Isn’t it nice to reach a fit of madness to push and pass and become another version of that moment until fingers type systematically about a word we ought to know but don’t, yet pretend we fucking do; as they push forward further than anything we had seen since the beginning of the typing with a delivering eye. Good. Let’s walk another round of this.
A disabled tomorrow shook our heads. “Look at me!” Screaming while fading so willingly against us to soak everything we are within a glass containing self to sip viciously until complete; every day walking in the cornfields listening to wind scrape our minds and touch our boots we claim we never knew and we never knew.
There’s nothing to look at so we climb our coats and staff our hands with envy. Smiling beautiful teeth to not forget. What are they selling as we drink this sweet sugar down. A mountain of things ringing in the air, some thirty things ago, filing non. So we stop. Here, or another place, and you see or you don’t. Congrats to the sunrise happening.
How much of a memory do you take without yourself.
Small amounts of something came with the boy as he walked alone on the road.
Can this road be the road we’ve been given or the road we have. Maybe it doesn’t much matter as long as the sun rises and shines without you noticing. Forgive this screeching silence. It’ll bother you again.
Saw a cat once. It was black. Crossed into a cornfield. While we walked the cat came back. It wasn’t about the cat. Never was. Large tree had a branch torn off by a storm. I saw that storm. Ran from it. -A leaf rushes by, how often does one thought finally stop you and you wonder about its truth. About the cat.
Shake your crumbs at the moon and ask it to remember. The child wanted to hold the moon. If only the moon stopped hiding during the day. – We can’t, even though it replays in our minds continuously. The over again is hidden as deeply as the secret having ever been. -M. Taggart