How Do You Do That
Words are flinging and flailing, ferociously flipping and flying.
I watch it happen, helpless to get any control; for they are frenzied.
My muse rolls her finger around her ear, indicating their craziness.
Isn’t part of this ….us? I ask her? Trixie has answers for everything.
She puts her finger into wet paint on a brush and flips dots on a page.
They begin to prance around, making perfect poetic prose.
How do you do that? I ask her, amazed. She is a wonder.
The words start rearranging themselves, until they are even better.
Numbers try to find a place but they are annihilated with a look.
Trixie and I both despise math.
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