Words come and find me.
Sounds and sentences seek me out.
They track me down
and confine my mind until I agree to record them,
give their invisible souls a frail outline of ink
on which to cling atop a feeble college-ruled page.
It’s all the rage, they say.
They like the fancy loops and twirls, like a tilt-a-whirl,
but, say I, their outlook must be rather dismal when I close the book!
(Originally published on my old blog, Interim Arts, in May 2013)