In response to Whitman:
Have you reckoned a thousand acres much?

Hi Walt. If you’re asking how Thomas Edison got into the river in the first place, it’s because I put him there. His work and the magnitude of which he depended on public approval tortured him—he had to escape. However, no matter how far he travelled from his art, it was within him. He sweat it out. Part of my journey in self-understanding is rooted in empathy with other characters. To imagine Thomas escaping his craft and into utter darkness is for me to find myself in the Amazon, for him to discover that he is still dreaming of light is for me to wake in the middle of giving-up with a hand twitching towards a pen.

When light bulbs popped he was reminded
of his failure, his mockery of daylight.

Nightly, Thomas’s lovers unscrewed
his invention, preferring the kindness
of candles.

Once he thought he was so clever, capturing
the sun in a mason jar, dreamed of it conveniently
lighting a porch scene while a girl rummaged
for her door key, or illuminating her face
as her sweetheart found her lips.