p a i g e    t a g g a r t

 

We see the changes...

O flank the solider...































We see the changes...

 

We see the changes come in our suitcase, in our hands, we holdup a signature of ourselves to the sun. We hold it up to the sun. Our suitcases carry the goldfish, our suitcases are a pond, and our mouths hide the lima beans. Please donít jab an elephant with an ankus, be friendly to the creatures of our world. O we breathe sand and elephant, switch a pick in hand, gumdrop in the eyes of the parade. Feel comfortable thinking about contrary imagined. A condensed intrusion cleans the slate and forms a village. A hand dipped in the parade, lifted out a steel wool baby. Practice repetition in the mouths of your daughters.

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O flank the solider...

 

O flank the solider, cut the cookie crap, massage the circus in our backyard. File the string with dinosaurs in the ruins of our basement. We have such big holes in our tenements. Makeshift mariner ships with their big circle windows resemble our lives. A slow trudge along, parade like crawl, collected, looking through. We are insistent and it can be the biggest dream, taking over, condemning the parade from happening. Start closing all the doors, start locking up the basement. Put dolly, pardon, in your mouth. Close all the recipes of any willpower to be less than great. Anything more is ordinary, we color in the lights and fade out back.

 

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PAIGE H TAGGART lives and works in a house, in Brooklyn. She has an e-chapbook with Scantily Clad Press, Wonít Be a Girl. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Agriculture Reader, La Petite Zine, My Name Is Mud, Blazevox, Ditch, Elimae, Robot Melon, Caketrain, Critiphoria, EOAGH, Sawbuck, and Eleven Eleven. You can listen to her reading one of her poems online at Weird Deer. She makes jewelry, available online: http://mactaggart.etsy.com


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