It used to be so easy
watching the words leak out of the pen
but now I'm hesistant
when I'm anticipating them.
I wonder: is it trite?
They always told me not to write
about the act,
the perpetual spill,
frail as the feather that tops the quill.
As for pens,
for this, I've gone through three.
They can't seem to keep up to speed.
Perhaps they too need to stretch
before strenuous activity.