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.