I read Confucius in a graveyard
In an effort to break a malignant streak of writer’s block
Another time, I ate nothing but pretzels and yogurt
For two days straight
I’ll try anything during these times
I read Confucius in a graveyard
As a flock of geese shat upon former residents of my town
They seemed enamored by a Mr. Singer,
Who must have looked up from his eternal slumber,
And thought, not for the first time,
What was the point of it all?
I read Confucius in a graveyard
As the skies opened up and rained upon me with Biblical fury
Then I ran, soaked, back inside to my computer
To stare at three sentences
And wait for the inspiration that may or may not ever come