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I take a moment
I listen to the noises around me.
The living violins of the forest I traverse.
The yellow wind is in my hair
And I gallop down the red lane to the meter of hooves.
They dig in the soil, iron rich. A blood red road.
Blood red road.
I say it out loud with relish.I enjoy the sensation of phonetics dancing across my white teeth like thick, delicious pasta.

I play with the idea.

Dentals:
Taper
Slavery
Lackadaisical

Bi-Labials:
Pride
Misogyny
Brevity

Fricatives:
Thankful
Delta
Fuck

Triplets trip over my tongue
Trapezoid
Null and void
Caucasoid

This meal tastes better than the last one I had.
The one I forced down my throat,
It was so vile, I had to wash it down with the bitter tang of my ex lover.
Sex like chewing a raw leek.
Afterglow that requires palate cleansing.

He made my tongue big and awkward.
A lumbering dullard
Rolling oddly into consonants
Trying to right itself by overcompensation.
Like a clumsy person walking on ice.

Well.

Attempting.

I’m drawn from my reverie.
I’m a bit lost in the woods by now.
The violins have grown silent with the condensation of trees.
I try to choose a specific path, but I am unable to turn down the way I wish.

It’s not me. It’s my horse.

“When the time comes, you’ll know your way,” he declares.
What a miserable douche.

There are children alongside this undesirable road.
They reach for me

And in their hands, a basket full of promises.
In their hands, a basket empty of everything else.
I am unable to reach from my saddle.I screech phonetics at the basket in frustration.
The children back away wide-eyed and shocked

God damn it!
(Glottal dental)I want the basket

It’s mine. 
It belongs to me.
 
I start to move.
Headed once again down the road.
It’s not me. It’s my horse.
I strain my neck back
Try to spy the basket
Keep it in my sights
It’s mine.
It belongs to me
I want the basket
I can no longer see it.
I just keep moving down the road.
My neck hurts.
The actualization of words like food no longer feels like such a delight.
My mouth might as well be empty
Like the basket
Might as well be quiet
Like the forest
Might as well be blood red
Like the road
Like marinara sauce
Like my frustrationMaybe my horse will let me turn off this road soon.
Maybe I will make the decision.
Maybe I will stay on this horse forever.

A miserable douche.

Jennifer Nöel Klouse is a Seattle writer, director, actor, singer and producer. Her work includes venues such as Avery Fisher Hall at the Lincoln Center NYC, the American Cemetery in Normandy, the Kennedy Center in Washington DC and the Vatican in Rome. Locally she’s worked with Seattle Rep, Copious Love Productions, StageRight: DSR and runs her own small theater company Rogue Theatrics. She loves, and is loved by many. She has cats. She gets excited by meter and she’ll eat anything that is flavored with lime. If that’s not enough for you, she showers. Daily.
Her favorite poet by far is Alexander Pope.
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