A thought can be a mangled mess until we take time to straighten it out and truly understand it. -M. Taggart
A thought is like a ship at sea.
Some of them never come back.
No matter how hard you try,
the words aren’t the same,
and they’re gone forever.
There’s something about a good book, a place to read it, and the rising of your eyes from its pages to think about it. -M. Taggart
Time is a funny thing that lives its own life,
and here we are tying thoughts to it.
We’re on to something here.
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
Maybe some do,
And maybe my coffee is burnt.
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.
The Less is leaving
Poured over by fulfillment
As these words and thoughts
continue to grow