The Breakthrough
My fountain pen found its way,
onto the internet,
it was a transformative process,
for both ink and blood.
There were thousands before me,
many talking in a strange language,
of signs, signals, and digital squiggles,
a code I had to break.
The nib of my pen broke
its golden crown.
My fingertip's had to study
how to not blunder,
like a bull elephant
into a wide-open frat house.
Slapping words down
onto this new plastic virtuality
I crashed through,
pages of self-deleting paper,
struggling to compute
the mysteries of 'write' and 'send'.
Daily I had to deal with this,
almost psychotic urge
to shove my thoughts onto
a seemingly infinite white wall,
hoping I was not,
just going to splash stuff on it,
only to run away.
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