Hope, Despair

an atelier can’t repair.

Stormy, Starry Night

all I can do is stare

and reflect how I got here

filled with awe and fear.

Another Day, Another Dollar

spend, save, spend, regret… spend

Youth yells, “I don’t care!”

Age stutters, “is this it?”

From This to That, Tit to Tit

What do you want to do?

I was starving; so might as well become an artist too.



I painstakingly picked her hair from my jacket as I left, prying them away and letting the breeze decide a new home. But this time as I leave I no longer remove you from my jacket. Instead I cherish those discarded remnants, the last reminders slowly drifting away. I now meticulously cherish each hair as they become less and less. Praying it sticks around a bit longer; a drawn-out, hurtful goodbye. As I take off in this plane I know this will be the final time your hair finds its way to my jacket. As the last * insert hair color * strand frees itself I’ll find some solace that I was temporarily entangled in those fragments of you, and I hope that the next notices you within each perfectly misplaced hair attached to his jacket as you leave.



Taylor Lindquist

Taylor Lindquist

theologian, writer, creative at the intersection of art, religion, and culture || Yale University ’21 M.Div || George Fox University ’18 BA