matrix

We’re on to something here.

Aren’t we?

The hitch, the ever present self
puzzling over deliveries of deja vu
Placing clarity over never

It’s as if we’ve nearly got it

Yea.

Maybe some do,
And maybe my coffee is burnt.

 

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

Nothing’s good enough. So, I write nothing. I write about a grandmother sitting alone on a boulder sipping air while watching you. You don’t care much about this, but you still think of her. As a girl she wore sun dresses which you admired. Kicking dirt, ignoring her. In your room you had thoughts that blanketed freedom.

-M. Taggart