Taylor McCarthy


The Earth recycles her self
and is recycled through me.
I am but a chain of genes;
an inception of Nature.

Earthly scents diffuse a natural cleansing,
an aroma of karma circling dusk,
lowering day's volume silent.
I watch the cosmic fire burn the moon;
it peeks through my foggy barn window
—Would I know you if I had not already known you?

Thoughts like Hurricane Rain

A sudden storm, like thoughts, droplets
Of heavy rainfall smash against the earth,
A million deaths echo into the caves
Of my mind—thoughts gone, their screams
Mixed into the puddle known as my mind.

Night's Expiring Utopia

Stars become cold, a pattern of the system,
when Night darkens, crickets hum lullabies—
habitual feedings to Midnight Moon.
Night's imperial sounds slow down,
I feel them within me; each pulse responding
to Night's expiring utopia.

First Light

The morning earth rests, brittle,
Its air frozen, crisp,
Inhaling, tingling,
my spine, my core, my being.

The morning sun rises, brisk,
Its structure on fire, circling,
Warming, embracing,
my spine, my core, my being.

I stand receptive in the first light,
I Melt,
I Shed,
I Revive.


Veins nestle beneath Earth's surface,
bleed life through vessels slowly
beyond scratchy membranes—
transparency traps it,
stars send it over, curve it under,
circle and pour it into open souls.


I am a flower, as the wind curves,
the earth spins, I stand strong, protecting
my stem—soul,
petals—my being.