Sometimes "the pen" calls me
black ink throbbing
in a brass tube
muffled screams handheld dreams
with words, yet understood.

"What's your intent? One more lament
or a quippy,  query?
tale to tell?
As you invent, please just indent
and, punctuate  as you,
cast your (perma-spell)"

And then it starts.
The wiggles.
I hold it loose between my thumb
and fingers
sometimes I get the giggles
sometimes I just go numb.

Desperations, contemplations
Ego trips with routes exposed.
I'm never quite sure where we're going
So
I try to wear comfortable clothes