The Pen is Mightier?

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Sometimes I just stay and write
and then the stupor of the afternoon
lays waste  My mind      
a floating strange state,
where the edges of reality
and dreams
blur
      
regeneration, sushi      sashimi        
sharp edges, and oozing lines      
that taste sensation,
like flowerbuds
popping in My mouth
      
taste that cry and that guttural desire          
As the movements of the sharp steel
mesmerize
like strokes of a paintbrush
or strokes, no -  the stokes
of a pen.
      
Who writes and who acts      
who is the better and who will claim    
I know in the end the watcher does not      
                  but may the writer?

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