poem: how my pen ejaculates

i know, usually in every writing there should be a proloque.
i know, in my head i've been playing various ways to start the opening for this blog.
some maybe notions of what i hold as the basis of future discussions in this blog. but at the moment i lack time. but i still want progress.
this blog is preciouss.....

i start with a poem, then.
this poem is the opening to a book i used to scribble in.

how my pen ejaculates

my pen, the substitute for a quill,
vomits enormous nuances
in a universe of lexicons,
a lie is divine.

It has come to me that
the size of the handwriting
imitates the girth of the pen
or is it not the will of the author?

quivers to the heart
are not shot by the pompousness of appearance
it is by the delicacy of manner
child-like idiosyncracies that thaws prejudice

Who should resist?

Nibs that go through throats
are just as fatal
as scythes that severe heads.