It was a different version of today without tomorrow, yesterday was gone too. Leaving a something option. “Gravity,” he said, “is used in ways we don’t understand; holding and un-holding themselves exactly where they want to be while everything else moves.” To conceal is to prove a whisper can turn to life. The holding of time isn’t a hand.
And just like how you thought it would be, it was.
And the oak fell with the most delicate calculation, given by the softness of the pushing wind, and came to be with a thud where it is now. The wind took its leave and was never seen again; only remembered by the one who had first seen how it could be.
And even if told to another it wouldn’t have mattered.
Strange remote corridor with cement walls flaking into watery step-stones, dark found a friend, and we walked; alone sings a nothing and what a funny thought came to mind about let freedom ring. -M. Taggart
whispers became screams never said. shower doors, with soap, and windows, watched. the door didn’t shut, and the did, did nothing, while the smiling whores of everything told of how to hush. things were done while walls stood vacant, birds of the morning sang, and heaven hung low. -M. Taggart
Felt a few twitches. Came in a row. Finally, after the last woke our thought process to understand other things were happening, we did realize it had happened. And it’s here, with a yawning moment of veneration for afterthought, come and gone again in a backward way, we asked, “will we be able to ….again” and it turns out so. Give no boundaries to a repeating thought.