My reply, Lucy.

Check out this incredible poem by Matt. It was a response to a comment I left on one of his pieces, and I really enjoyed reading it.


and also the men who are too large, walking. hurting, toward the store
and the women who sit in their cars, windows nearly closed, smoke
everywhere and they see me looking at you, in my phone, while I’m
none of them and also everything they are and here we all sit
Wondering about how the soft shuffling of a heavy foot can make
it to the entrance of the store, one with a door that opens for them,
knowing they are hurt. And maybe think about their death.
I see in them what they hate about themselves and I feel.

-M. Taggart

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By the canefields at dusk.

From solidarity and desire, the trace of winter’s end, Will I always remember that? I see people Scowled on their prophecies, and dreams from before Are never nearly settled in the impression of first want— With these rhythmic ghosts upon red petals, and in the distance The beauty of the dew—vanishing in deeper silence— Terrifying their own voices nightmarish with unease