Who hasn’t
eaten the ashes
of their own thoughts?
-M. Taggart
Who hasn’t
eaten the ashes
of their own thoughts?
-M. Taggart
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
There’s nothing like an anxious night of a writer. -M. Taggart
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.
-M. Taggart
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.
-M. Taggart
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
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
The Less is leaving
Poured over by fulfillment
As these words and thoughts
continue to grow
-M. Taggart