a strange thing happened to me today.
a crowd of words ran towards me—
a rare thing to occur
and unsure, i ran away from them
yet they chased me down the alley
down the treacherous road of forsaken ideas
past the rocks, hands poised in the sky,
perhaps expressing resignation of a reluctant pen
and in the debris of the confusion
prose beckoned me, a decibel lower than
the shrill of raucous, forced words
with a thin veneer of superficiality.
a strange thing happened to me today.
torrents of elegant words rounded me up
it was at 3 a.m., a strange hour
when brave
dawn cold gained entry through the louvres
elbowing a reluctant thought and sat it
right in the middle of my page.
a strange thing happened to me today.
words conspiratorially whispered to me:
clear, crisp thoughts that could sparkle if
ruffled;
words dancing, gyrating to the beat of my imagination;
words dressed with hyphenated asides, yet brief as a major-general's command;
unrestricted, unrestrained outstretched arms of
words;
unafraid of the editor’s noose
words shouting—
“Go tell madam Few-Words-Matter that
the Norman Mailer Pressure Group resents her
high-handedness;
we have a right to associate in any way
we please
& picket across thousands of pages if we
want!”
a strange thing happened to me today.
my Muse came and said,
"Boy, grab your pen.
we got some work to do!"
c) Lorot Salem/ echoes of the hills 2016
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