zero

awake for twelve hours
on three hours of sleep
waiting for inspiration to bound through my front door.
taking off and putting on my hat
fidgeting
(keeping it rocked to the side).
casting aside the pen for the keyboard
every
fucking
word
from these fingertips
reads uncreative and trite. 
how dare I call myself a writer,
more like
a shame to the alphabet. 
unworthy
of these twenty-six letters. 
give me the number zero
and let's call it a night. 
but you want me to beg for the zero
beg for nothing. 

August 31, 2005

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