Under the soft whisper of the moon, a taco lies half-forgotten on the asphalt. Its shell, a golden crown, crumbles under the weight of forgotten dreams, much like the mind of the one who left it there. Is it the mind that wanders far afield, as astray as a runaway taco in the night, or the soul encased within that wanders beyond the reach of words?
We ponder the unexpected - lettuce in the heart, tomatoes spilled like memories, cheese binding all with an unseen adhesive. The assembly of one on an existential canvas. A taco is a lesson, a manifesto of misplaced material in the metaphysical labyrinth.
Where do the thoughts go? Like slipping and sliding through streets after rain. And somewhere at the periphery, a distant echo - perhaps the laughter of the universe, or simply the echoes of one's own delusions, chased by hounds unseen and unheard.