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