The Muses Can Be Vicious and Come in Many Guises

The illusionist arrives
With what look like playing cards
Or maybe a tarot deck,

But are actually just words.
They fan out from long fingers,
Not fifty-two but thousands,

And the illusionist smiles
And asks you to please pick one.
You expect some sleight of hand

And are left disappointed
When the deck is put away
And the illusionist leaves

You holding the word you picked.
Now what will you do with it?