Notes on Writing, Research and Editing

Quicksand

His supple lips

Stood out in a plethora of people

I watched in fascination

As he moved,

Careened around corners

Tripped himself in a line

Of quicksand

Sinking in, hands opened

Towards the becoming

They all stopped to stare

Crowds unabashedly gawking

At this man

Screaming in a moment

Of insanity

Listing reasons we should listen

But then stopping help

When others reached out

Silence cascades over this cityscape

The man chest-deep

Turns supple lips up

Addressing public fascination

A plethora of words

Spilled from those lips

So fast, I could not follow

A lady asked him to sum it up

Quickly state what it was he was saying

He laughed in response

Waves his hands in a fury,

“I’ve fallen deep this time.

And I don’t want free.”