I don't know
Why I'm writing this poem.
I don't feel like writing this poem.
I have a perfectly good poem
About an Egyptian lion goddess
Reincarnated as a mental patient.
What's wrong with that poem?
I like that poem.
It's too hot to write a new poem today.
It is sticky so
I am writing in my underwear.
I think that is the most creative thing about this
New poem.
This poem is not really a poem.
I like to write about big depressing things
And this is not a big depressing poem.
This is a little poem.
It drools and stares into space.
It says it wants to watch
Cartoons in a whiny voice.
If my other poems were here
They would sigh
And smoke clove cigarettes
Until it coughed.
Perhaps they would give it
Exhausted looks
And roll their eyes
Like me.
