Ah! An idea! Bouncing neurons bump
frontal lob to ear canal, rushing down
veins, pulsing through arm muscles and finger
bones until the tingle erupts for a pen.

Arms scramble, books over desks
shoved onto their sides, French homework flies around
Mozart concertos swirling up towards
ceiling fans and floating down, down, down ,down
until landing gently on, of course, a pen.

A pen- the holy instrument that will
transfer innermost thoughts and emotions
into beautiful prose and poetry.

Held by fingers, the pen is power- but
wait, the pen has no ink. (Gosh-darnit-all)