Ballet
Writing in long hand
on a blank piece of paper
seems almost quaint now.
Ink streaming black like a ballet dancer
looping beautifully
back and forth,
over and through.
This pen writes thoughts
not of its own mind.
A creature subject
to letters willed forth.
It dances
beautifully
in the clutches of its partner.
It dances
in the only way
it knows how.
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