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.
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.
Triplets trip over my tongue
Null and void
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.
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
The children back away wide-eyed and shocked
(Glottal dental)I want the basket
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.