Flat Nothin'

Little scraps of paper litter my desk fractured thoughts like half-baked beans the blue screen of death is taunting me I’m thinkin "shotgun" for my misery Sticky notes stuck to my monitor screen jean pockets full of washed out ink unintelligible scribbles on the palm of my hand and I don't got a thing that don't stink Here and there a wayward glimmer of maybe something to say but it was only an inkling that lost its own way a fart in the wind so to say So I sit like a bump on a stump on my rump and wish I could write me a line and I wait and I pray and I curse, but . . .alas ----- Oh wait! -– something’s coming at last! Oh. more gas.