Directive to the Circumspect Texan
When the vowel trips through the consonant and knots
the tongue, remember this: artifice. A making. In one
hand, a knife. On the table, cured flesh and fermented
products. Imagine uncertain lighting, laughter, a narrow
opening and the uphill walk three days into the parametric
world of occlusion. Tell no untruths. Mention refrigerators
and your proficiency with duck. Admit failure and order
a second pilz. Listen. Discuss heat and issues of space,
personnel logistics and the pleasure of July departures.
Cite advertising and Ashbery. Savor what is rightly not
yours. Embrace inadequacy. Forego dessert. Express
true gratitude. Say y’all. Shake hands. Find the door.
Please welcome Owen as my latest Guest Poet!
You can read more of Owen’s words here: http://sensualism.me/
If you would like to be a Guest Poet, please email me your poem to firstname.lastname@example.org
Butterfly in shimmering light,
Garden blooming in new season.
Kookaburra, sitting, soulful –
Poignant is the far horizon.
Orchid flowers, life awakens,
The day grows ever longer.
Prodigious is her effort, action.
Human in kind,
Love we find
In simple, pleasant things.
Far horizon, ever closer,
Droplets they descend.
Life, we wish to never end,
The day draws near,
Feel the softness of my flesh,
without worrying about
the layers beneath
or the scars that mark it.
See the depth in the
cold stormy seas of my eyes
and hear the truth mixed with
the agony beating within my heart.
Taste my lips with abandon,
like I dream of devouring yours,
then I will no longer remember
to breathe anything but you.
© Sarah Doughty
Who’d have thought a broken lamppost could light so many children’s dreams. It stood in a forest of snow, displaced, yet more appropriately cast than any actor. That stoic light would show us the way home if we too wandered off into Narnian woods. If we wanted to return, anyway.