spent

I’m rummaging
through my brain, turning
out my mental pockets,
hoping to find the words
for one more poem. yesterday
I spent all my coins, cranked
out so many poems that I truly fear
I have nothing left. why didn’t I save
one or two for a rainy day
like today, when I’m hungover
and have no inspiration
and nothing seems worthy
to write about? silly me.
maybe if I look a little harder
I can wring some more wine
out of this dirty rag
I call my brain, and cudgel one more
collection of words on the page
into something resembling
a poem.