Impulse

The words that stream
from my mouth dance
to their own tune,
like smoke rings blown through
each other, creating an image
of ripples on a pond.
I never learned to skip
stones, and I don't know
how to whistle, but I can
hum: humdrum and spontaneous
both, my phrases
orbit their meaning. Thoughts
cannot occur to me before
I speak them; this is creation,
this is it, or it, or it. This
lack of control is freedom.
A glorious reeling,
this.

-- Copyright 2007 Maddie Ruud

"Action 1" is a project, born Jan 31, 2007, involving the free distribution of original poetry. I give permission to forward this message as a whole, unaltered, via email, but reserve the rights of publication, web and print.