“Content isn’t a thing it’s a place. We try and build this life to disallow the cracking of the not doing what we know we want to do and what would be best to have done. We look back and scratch our memories to clarify where we lost our contentedness and allow our minds to flex into the finding of that place. And the building begins again.” The frog hopped so nicely forward, “Do you understand?” the frog asked. The child ran her fingers along the long grass growing beautifully in the field; watching the sunlight flicker from the tops of each blade, not trading tomorrow for the sunlight of today. “I think I know the place.” She smiled and thanked the frog without thanking the frog at all.
when no one’s there to pour a sonnet down your throat
easing your expressions of pain as your scorching metallic rage
sets itself against its blade-
shiver first with an angle and propel thy teeth against a hue from the heavens
Wasted space happened in our thought. I filed it away. Listening to no music while thinking of it. Want to keep your self. self. It’s the strangest thing when you leave. We walk in the smell. The leaves this time of year are rotting on the soles of our boots. We carve your remanence with a knife.
It’s happened. The leaves are hush. We walk with sound brushing souls at our feet. Isn’t this how we imagined it to be? We found the tree with many faces while sliding down our steep banking- snapping small branches and carving scars into the earth as we slid. Standing, with mud in hand, we reach for the calmest face. ‘Can’t we be?’ The calm face replied, ‘Isn’t this just as you imagined?’
The mirror walks. If it’s true a mirror holds a portion of each of us then it’s true we have a conscious breathing us which we never realized to not know. We sip our drink and wait. -M. Taggart copyright 2016