Normal service

Through the lens of fountain pens and in the sights I take my aim
my aim being,
to write in seeing colours,sounds so full that mountain men would wonder when the quake was coming.
To rock the boat 
To grab the coats of passers by
to ask and ask and not care why, the answer is not do or die but do and do and if and when those mountain men come tumbling down to earth,and whether angels do give birth to devils or devils dance with debutantes,who rant while tied to apron strings,
my blue bird always sings
draws rings around my head and words in colours written, read,
are what it’s all about.


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