my itch

I can't think of anything
new to say.
so i'll just keep typing
until I think
of something.
I yell into the other room.
hey.
do you have anything,
give me
something. some subject,
some topic
with which to expound
upon and make up some
half baked poem.
no.
nothing. so this is all
I got. i look around the room.
the window.
the desk, a lamp.
a cup of old coffee.
bills on the table, nothing.
maybe tomorrow. maybe
the day after something
will inspire me.
i could use a good nights sleep
and a
pint of scotch.
someone to scratch my
itch.