Life Support
the next great poet of the 21 st century argues in the comments section under a video about Virginia Woolf’s depression, apparently you can’t go drowning yourself if you don’t write to strict form or beat a cliché to within an inch of its life, it’s 2026 and poetry’s on life support with regular appointments for an ECG and a urine test, nothing screams sonnet quite like a cannula in the arm administering cliché 24/7 for weeks on end RIP
