In a house full of pens
To net fluttering ideas
Laid in paper
Intended permanence
I’d tap in
Or sometimes it taps me
Asking where am I taking it
After the thought hijacked consciousness
That I used to believe that I own
But there is nothing, not even in the infinitesimal
Can I claim that came from the crania
That houses a mind continually blown
By minuscule miracles
Bear, bred or sown
Submitted to you is life
Worth a few lines
That sometimes warms up
To make sense, maybe rhyme
In quartets
If I’m let
By algorithm, beget
A random explosion again
From the tip of a pen
danDAman 