We wonder. Is it for pity we are unable to perform any one movement subconsciously. Clear out head. Think stickly and fetch the water hose which carries the best of everything. We’ll certainly view the song sung while water finds our lips. We press our lips together and never drink. -M. Taggart
Into the dark most will come. There wasn’t a dam and there wasn’t a nuke plant. Steam didn’t rise from the background and loom over the dam. I never stood on the dam with a flashlight looking for the body. I wasn’t asked why the valve wouldn’t shut. I didn’t learn to walk within the switch yard and the accident never happened. Into the dark most will come. Not me and not then and not now. My memories are my own.
And the fog drifts on. It’s hard to write. Here- let’s go fish and the water can be gas and the world below will tell much. Then, maybe. -M. Taggart
From one home, to another. Light ears and Dark ears. Both fought. I’m supposed to what? Here we are- children. We’re looking at a fence, waiting for a cat. One has half an ear. A frog died in the make-shift swimming pool. That was nearly our first home. It’s hard to remember which home was our home. Yet, we both, are expected to produce exceptional happenings. Who’s to hold our fort? It doesn’t matter. I once fell from a tree. We’d built a fort with hammers and nails. I lay, asleep, and there he was, catching me while rocks waited below. Here, I’ll be, for him. Brothers.
People bore me. Small brains. No memory. Then I see a frog. It jumps because I step near it. It jumps again because it wants to get to the water in front of it. Then, the frog asked me what I was doing. That was odd. Normally, people don’t ask what I’m doing, let alone a frog. I said, “I was just being me.” The frog told me, “that’s enough of a challenge,” and continued on to the water. – M. Taggart.