I thought I had something to write,
but instead I'm buzzing strangely
as if I'm a conduit for the lost currents in the air,
   The static electricity.
  
I yearn to untangle.

My insides are a coil of jumper cables
and perhaps I'll take up yoga.

And then I will write a story that weighs more than the factory which made the pen,
And it will be such that the whole world will read it
and weep.
And the whole world will be that one guy who rows the gondola boat in city park
because I will have left it
by the dock.
And all the people will return again and again
To purchase another ride,
To sit in his boat and glide on the water
and hear him tell the story,


And their tears will fill the lake.