The Writer in me............................

It is Something about the

Pen?

When the Ink flows

through -

Fluid.

It Runs onto the Page &

Crosses the Lines so Easily

that  the Joy comes

from the Writing of it.

- To hold it in your Hand

and........

the World runs out

like Water - The Black Ink

Rolls like the Persian Mohammed

His Carpet -

He of the Black Pen.

Like the Art of Itself it Runs away with My Hand,

Like a Horror Movie when

All the Hands Commit

Suicide, by Leaping

Out of the Window

&......

That's what my Pen does for Me.

The Ink Commits its Suicide

as it Runs out & over the Paper

Uses itself up.

It Uses Itself,

Completely -

& I Cannot Write on the White Paper........

There are just Lines to Stay In

With no Ink!

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