Paige Taggart

Of is Our Origin



I’ll start writing really clearly that way

when I go to type it up there will be no

confusion and

then when I go to read this aloud I will

annunciate very clearly so there will be no


I’ll sound out each word like “tsk tsk”

you’ll think everything is onomatopoeia

and you’ll be all like she must be boom

thrashing on her insides

there must be a little storm of confidence



just so you know

she did hear cheers of goodwill

as she wrote this and everything was of an of

because it’s so difficult to make something

perform as is

without being the “of”

which hosts a whole metaphor of

compliant ideas and allusions


I took a bunch of bites of my bagel

sandwich in between these lines


I took a screen shot with my iphone of

images of Cher


the grey area of multi-tasking shone itself

in its ripe colors of distraction

like how we can’t just do one thing without

thinking about another

or say one thing without implying a whole

heed of our identity

that we were born with

the very second our mothers pushed

us out into the world

The Rules of Tennis



with our ideals we wrapped

thoughts in & around each other’s heads

they seem clocked at first site

or at least presumptuous


I have a problem with being presumptuous or

rather predicting ideas or someone’s next move

it’s not helpful in a relationship

but it’s great for tennis


I saw your eyes key in on an opening and put the

assertive action: defense into an offensive play


thought is maneuvering abstract thinking into

tactile existence

most maneuvers start in the mind and move

outwards in this way; perhaps all breathing

nature is a

mind: soil ; the entity: tree


so you see what moves out grows

but this isn’t really “big thinking”

it’s not rainbows and kitties either


we clothe the panic

move towards mediocrity

this noise is a prism

it’s a funeral


we build defense

clutch to the wall

like helium balloons

hair bucks up on ends


it feels like my entire person screams



but like in a breakroom

but like baby breaker me home


hypocrisy is a shadow we can all walk through

love calculates myth

myth makes a muse of attainable strength


we ride the purple waves

shelter our visualistic dune

in shades of hyper pigment and attainable myth

block waves of underwater trauma


I used to say dear water

I used to say dear book of living proof


it’s a mess

the shit is fucked


the smooth risk of magic

pushes purple butter into your lamb mouth

now your lambskin is so purple

and filled with hybridity


PAIGE TAGGART is from Northern California and currently resides in Brooklyn. She is the author of two full-length collections, Or Replica (Brooklyn Arts Press, Dec 2014) and Want for Lion (Trembling Pillow Press, March 2014) and 5 chapbooks, most recently I am Writing To You From Another Country; Translations of Henri Michaux (Greying Ghost Press). She has her own jewelry line ( that specializes in blinging-out poets.