The taco tasted
crunched cold like tacos should in
hot shells of ecstasy
lettuce meat cheese refreshes
the mind the tongue
the fires stamped out from today
So taking a turn from the heartfelt towards the absurd. Been mixing clay and dust and blood to make sturdy bricks for too long. Makes me tired. Makes me long for the irreverent. And, as dryer lint… sadly so… the irreverent is as see through and weighty as air…. nothing with substance….
So do we make this conclusion that there IS no yin nor yang? It’s a myth like everything else? A myth that is written at the end of something? At the end…. at the death of something….. written for comfort….. for constellation? Written in drippy supplication?
All that I do know…. is that I’m bound to write more taco haikus.