Dances of Words from Mind to Hand
A pen in hand is a tongue in palm that prints letters in a papyrus
A compiled notes are a song of time buzzing, like a hum in solitude
Ringing, from your brain to ear; and then from your ear to mouth: clicking your tongue
The words are in the end of it. You close your eyes and wander around
A stygian loom in the cave of world. An eigengrau; ‘tis not I’m fallible!
There’s a glow from an inspiration kindled aspirations to scribble
A jolting words in a string of mind drawn from ephemeral memory
In the dance of words from mind to hand, in the stroke of ink on a paper
In the beat of heart, vigor of mind; a letter is born to be a torch
Accompanied with glorious music the bearer of civilization
A torch to posterity; a wit to unsung predecessors
An index to glorious successors – it can be salvation, damnation
It can build herculean leverage or liliputian erudition
You can have a world in your pocket and a pixies guise of an angel
That grant death to a buried living a kiss of life to an appeased death
‘Tis a piece of Psyche in titillation, an ideal illusory cortex
Lo, a puppet with a heart of ink.