Sometimes I like big writing.
It's bold, and it shouts in your mind
like there are little people running around up there
carrying voice boxes on their shoulders.
Sometimes though, the smaller writing works best.
When you have to squint slightly,
then quickly run upstairs
leaving a desolate laptop buzzing to itself,
while you grab those lonely spectacles
lying dishevelled by the dog eared book you fell asleep on last night.
While you're there though, a twinge of guilt hits you.
That book, it was almost new last night.
The corners were only slightly upturned and the creases not quite so fatal.
Now they're like you got a compass and carefully scarred the cover
with that evil look in your eye.
The one you imagine anybody with a homocidal thought towards a book would have.
Worse than a murderer.
So now you're stuck in these encapsulating thoughts
and the spectacles are hanging wearily from your hand.
"She's thinking about rescuscitating that book isn't she...
She knows it's too late.
Those pages can't be folded back into perplexing straightness.
Look at them. So forlorn. Curled around the endless tails of her thoughts.
Endless tails attached to endless creatures with voice boxes on their shoulders."
And so I must surmise that smaller writing
should only be used for those not easily distracted
by the wise voice of their spectacles
or the dying book half buried under their pillow.
But then again...
When you write with larger writing,
you end up gambling
on what you wrote before
And then, really, you're just rambling
as your thoughts disappear to a netherland up-screen.