poem – soon

i feel it
a beautiful wreckage of thoughts,
twisted. aligned however they
want- a storm, it’s always been
like this. ‘something’s going to happen
and it’s going to be soon.’ i remember
saying to her. and it did. and it was soon.
and things changed, not for the good.
but this one, this one’s different.
this one’s going to last a long, long while,
and it’s going to change the boundaries
of permissions far beyond my simple sight.

-M. Taggart

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